Unfixable
by RealCamille
Summary: After all that's happened, Fitz and Liv are done with each other for good. Could ANYTHING make the impossible possible?
1. Chapter 1

******A/N: So, I decided to throw my hat into the ring. This story picks up after the final interaction between Liv & Fitz in episode 7 of season 1. I have a lot I think I want to say about Olivia's self-critique of her relationship with Fitz. Fears that have come to the surface that go beyond being exposed in a public forum, breaking up a family, etc. Anyway, Critiques are more than welcome. If this story is well-received, I will continue and will try to update several times a week (mostly on the weekends). Thanks in advance! **

**P.S.: If anyone can tell me how to categorize this story under 'Scandal', I'd really appreciate it. LOL! **

**CHAPTER 1**

She took a deep breath, trying to subdue the nausea she felt in her gut, before answering the phone in as even a voice as she could muster.

"This is me..."

"Fuck you!" Fitz spat uncharacteristically.

She just breathed, quietly, not wanting to give him more cause to curse her, as if she needed it. She just sat there, almost willing him to calm down and find the determination to be reasonable.

Truth is, she needed more time to gather her thoughts. She didn't know what to say to him now. In this moment she more than regretted answering the phone. But she was finally tired of running away from everything. She knew he needed to hear her say... anything. Anything that made any sense. She needed it too. She was just so depleted. In all her life, she had never felt so cold, alone, scared, and broken.

She began quietly, almost too quiet for him to make out her words and with shakiness and hurt in her voice that even surprised her...

"Fitz..." she sighed, "I don't wanna fight. Please? Enough is enough."

"Fuck that. What just went down... it's not nearly e-"

"How long?..." There was silence for a moment as he processed her question.

"W-what?" he asked, astounded that she had the gall to interrupt him.

"How LONG, goddammit!" she heard herself scream as the hurt and anger rose in her throat, mixing with the nausea.

Olivia sniffed noticeably, fighting against the deluge. She swiped at the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand, her face contorted. She bit down painfully hard on her bottom lip to keep from making a tell tale sound. She didn't want to hear his voice. It was killing her. How dare he push so much. He was always pushing so damn much. And now, on top of everything, he had the nerve to try to play dumb. It was infuriating… and exhausting.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Fitz growled out, truly overcome by everything... confusion, rage, growing fatigue.

"How long has your wife known about US?"

Fitz' eyes popped open as if he had just been hit in the face with a bucket of ice cold water. Of course…

He quickly got up from where he was seated on the plush couch fronting his desk, and walked over to the French doors searching for nothing in particular along the twinkling D.C. skyline.

"Olivia..." Fitz sighed and bowed his head, tightly squeezing his eyes shut, as if attempting to block out the image from yesterday; the image of Liv walking out on him. It kept playing over and over in his head like a cruel silent movie.

"No..." Liv whimpered as she shook her head. She couldn't help it now. No one was around to see her unravel. The hot, messy tears just flowed like miniature rivers down her cheeks.

"No... she KNEW and she plowed right over me, Fitz!" Her tears flowed freely now and thanks to the weeping melody of her words she couldn't hide her utter despair. Olivia clutched her chest over her heart as if to cover a wound that was letting all of the blood from her body. She was nearly doubled over, her body racked with uncontrollable tremors.

Fitz just listened to the sounds on the other end of the phone. It took every bit of strength he had in his body to keep from breaking down into sobs that matched hers. His chest heaved up and down as he tried to choke back the emotion, the guilt, and even resentment, her cries were setting ablaze inside of him. He just listened, roughly rubbing his hand back and forth across his forehead, not knowing how to comfort her now. He wanted to so desperately, but too much had happened and he wouldn't just allow himself to slip back into the mindset of Olivia's concerned ex-lover. He needed answers. He needed to inflict pain the way she had. He wasn't going to let up. She owed him.

"Olivia… you went to _HER_. This wasn't _my_ doing. This was the last thing I wanted. And I'm tired of saying it! I'm tired of defending myself to _YOU_ of all people! I'm tired of breaking down first and telling you what I want and how I feel! I'm tired of everyone taking a chunk of me for themselves, except for the one person in this world I thought would stand with me… finally… no matter what! I'm tired of loving you more than you love me!" He paused, each deep breath burning the inside of his chest like he was fighting to swim to the top of a ten foot wave.

"You were supposed to be _my_ friend." The way he said the word 'friend' broke Olivia's heart. "You went to her and you made a deal… A _deal_! So whatever lies she filled your head with… whatever clever game you decided to try to play with her… well, sounds like you got gamed. Mellie played you! Don't fucking blame _me_!"

And there it was. For all of his "courting" of Olivia throughout the campaign and during the years she worked for him in the White House, Fitz was weary. He had everything to lose, so did she, but he was the only one making moves and pouring his heart out to her time after time after time, expressing his earnest willingness to leave it all behind… for her… if he had to. In a way, she didn't believe he really meant it and he knew that, and that's what really killed him. Not that he wouldn't go through with it. She was convinced he'd grow to resent her after a few years and she had told him as much. He couldn't say enough, look into her eyes long enough, make love to her tenderly enough to convince her otherwise. He felt… wasted. Everything he ever thought he wanted… growing more meaningless by the day. Everything he knew he wanted with his every fiber… impossible, unattainable. Fitz had begun to think over the past 14 or 15 hours that he was surely going to spiral into mental illness from this agony.

Olivia had been silent on the other end for too long. Her crying had stopped. She had heard every cutting word Fitz had just said, and for the first – actually second – time in her life she just couldn't respond satisfactorily. He was right. She played right into his wife's hands. Handed her her victory. She wasn't prepared for that. Liv thought she had it all figured out. Now, she was at a loss for words with Fitz. Her love. The only person in the world she loved this much and she couldn't even pinpoint how any of it happened… the attraction, the sex, the _love_. How did she get so far gone? How had things spiraled so out of control?

She was sitting on her couch in front of her t.v. with the sound on mute, pretend-looking out of her glass patio doors at the same D.C. skyline in Fitz' line of sight. Her chin and mouth were scrunched up into the palm of her hand, all being held up by her elbow as it dug down into her thigh. The other hand held her blackberry up to her ear. She sat there still as death, her puffy red eyes glazed over. She was tired too. Tired of crying herself to sleep at night. Tired of lying and keeping secrets from the people she shared her life with, every day… her staff at Pope & Associates. She didn't really have any family – no one who lived close by or whom she spoke to regularly. She didn't have any friends, just associates. Her only friend had been Fitz. It was always dysfunctional but in a way it was the friendship she had dreamt of. The only kind that a lover could provide. The closest, most intimate, most meaningful friendship of her life and thanks to Mellie's revelation, it had all turned into a lie.

It had occurred to Olivia – accurate or not – that Fitz and Mellie had conspired together to keep him 'satisfied' enough to maintain his willingness to remain in office and do his duty. Liv wasn't only the fixer, they'd agreed. She was the confidant, the bed warmer, the courtesan. Her purpose was to please the President. Keep him well rested. Keep the honest smile on his face, glimmer in his eye, pep in his step. Olivia thought back over Mellie's words from the previous day and lurched from her nearly catatonic position on the couch into the kitchen just in time to empty the contents of her stomach into the trash can. After a few more dry heaves, she slid to the cool kitchen floor and sat with her back up against the cabinets of the center island. She was breathing so hard that she was nearly hyperventilating, a clammy perspiration overtaking her forehead and the back of her neck. Still with the phone stuck to one ear, she pulled her knees up close to her and put her head in between them to regulate her breathing.

"Liv?" Fitz couldn't feign indifference at hearing her get sick on the other end of the line after what seemed like an eternity of dead silence. "Olivia!... are you alright?" Fitz said in a more stern and frantic tone than he intended.

"No." He heard her say, finally. "Not really. But I will be. I'm not your mistress any-more. Of course, physically, she hadn't been in some time, but emotionally… that was another story. "I'm too good for that, even with you. That's why I did it. At the end of the day, that's all that matters."

She told halve truths. Olivia had choked out the words in the weakest spirit Fitz had ever heard. They didn't _feel_ honest because she sounded so weak and said them with only half a heart. But Olivia didn't care anymore. All she could seem to think of now was how tired she was. She needed rest, just in life overall, and she couldn't do that tethered to Fitz.

Next, all he heard was the silence of a disconnected phone call. He could feel the fire boil up from the tips of his toes and fingers through to the top of his head. His vision went blurry and he closed his eyes again, leaning his forehead against the cool marble molding surrounding the French doors of the Oval Office. That was it. He was done with her. He'd never talk to her again.

**A/N: Again, thanks for reading. If anyone is concerned, please know that in my opinion Fitz & Liv belong together (eventually) NO MATTER WHAT. *devious smile* **


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:**__** Ohmigosh! Thank you, thank you, thank you, all so very much for the warm welcome and your supportive comments. Those of you who write KNOW how reader appreciation just lights the fire inside of you to write more and more. So, however "successful" I am with this story (good reviews, happy readers, etc…), those of you who have commented and critiqued are really the reason. XOXO**_

_**Now for the WARNING… LMAO!... things are definitely going to get "worse", so to speak, before they get better, so if you're not into angst this might not be the story for you. But, if you just hang in there with me, I PROMISE you that I have only the BEST of intentions for Fitz & Liv and have all of their shippers (including my damn self) at heart and in my mind as I write. I just HAVE TO build the story. There are SOOO many key events and details (and people… lol!) that I need to try to introduce, explain, resolve, end (that's a hint), begin, etc., that add to the overall purpose of my story which is to show that sometimes, dammit, you just love who you love no matter what, right or wrong – no matter the struggle. My fic is [going to be] about perseverance and the gratification that comes at the end of that. Now, if that's not a hint I don't know what is. **__***winks***___

_**Having said that, this next chapter seems kind of long to me. Sorry for that, but the magic is in the details (IMO). I can't get 'there' without bringing it through 'here' first. Thanks for understanding. Hope you enjoy! **_

**CHAPTER 2**

Four months. Four months to the day since Olivia Pope strategized her way into a meeting with a nearly off-the-rails First Lady of the United States. Before that she never _really_ knew the meaning of the phrase 'be careful what you ask for'; it hardly ever applied to her directly. And, as a result she managed to never hang onto too may regrets in life. But this time around…

Funny thing about anniversaries, especially the ones that don't mark an actual full year's passing or the ones that shouldn't really be celebrated at all. That was a pet peeve of Olivia's. Cute couples who engaged in monthly celebrations of the 'anniversaries' of their first dates. People who had yearly birthday parties for their poodles. That's why it was even funnier that Olivia couldn't concentrate right – at work, on the treadmill, driving in her car – when the 17th day of each of the past four months rolled around. Although the First Lady wasn't yet pregnant as of May 17, 2012, in only two month's time the announcement had been released. Olivia didn't know if it was a coincidence, or if Mellie had schemed it that way _especially_ for her torture, but when she turned on the morning news that sweltering day, July 17, she had all but missed the tail end of the report confirming that the First Family would be welcoming a new addition in early 2013.

'_Anna… you have some breaking news to report this morning from the White House?'_

'_I do, Michael… The White House has confirmed that President Grant and First Lady Mellie Grant are expecting their third child early next year. As you'll recall, exactly two months ago, the First Lady and the President sat down with Diane Sawyer to address the scandalous sex tape that had been released by former Chief of Staff to the Vice President, Billy Chambers. During that interview, the First Couple more than hinted that they had been attempting for quite some time to conceive again and had reason to be hopeful then. Well, today, the First Lady's press secretary handed the White House press corps written statements directly from the office of the First Lady's primary physician confirming that Mrs. Grant is around fourteen weeks pregnant and feeling well. Of course, three and a half years ago, during the then-Governor's election bid, the First Lady revealed the sad news that they had just lost a baby due to a miscarriage. Well, the First Couple is understandably thrilled with this development and the rest of us couldn't be happier for them.' _

That morning Olivia had been prepping to get in an early workout before going in to the office. She was walking over to the treadmill off to the side of her living room, when the television screen caught her eye with a headline foretelling of the announcement. As the reporter relayed the news, Olivia's mouth fell agape. She slowly walked over to her couch, never taking her eyes off the screen and plopped down. She turned the volume up a little, and slowly reached up to pull the hair band out of her hair, causing her messy ponytail to fall limp around her shoulders. That's about how she felt.

Olivia could feel the inside of her mouth becoming dry from hanging slightly open, so she tried to swallow hard as she closed it and clamped her teeth together. She could feel the tension building on both sides, where her jaw connected to her head, and then creep up the sides of her neck and into her skull. She could feel and hear the dull thumping start deep inside. The sound was just prominent enough to drown out the rest of the morning news report – the parts that didn't matter to her. Somewhere along the way she had stopped seeing what was actually playing across the t.v. screen although her eyes were still transfixed on it. Somewhere along the way she had begun praying for the oncoming migraine to stop.

Her home phone ringing, which was an anomaly, had snapped her out of it. She picked up the receiver from her side table and sighed with irritation as she read at the caller I.D.

"I'm alright, Steven." She answered in a low, monotone voice.

"I'm sure you are."

"I'll see you in a little while."

"Liv-"

"I'm alright!" And with that she hung up the phone. She was angry that her thoughts had been interrupted. Invaded again by a friend – acquaintance rather – who only meant well in checking up on her. She had taken out some frustrations on her colleagues, acquaintances and staff a few times recently, Steven _especially_. He received the brunt of it most times because, although Olivia knew it was unfair, she attached a certain amount of resentment to him for being her unsolicited voice of reason in her last official, and extremely intimate, dealings with the President and his First Lady.

Truth was, things had gotten downright rotten between her and Steven, and he had had enough of it. He was pretty much the consummate professional – he tried to be, even when he felt pulled in by Olivia's personal misjudgments. But when he finally confronted Olivia only a few days after the big announcement from the White House with the fact that she had all but lost some of her professional edge, that the rest of the team were unsteady as a result, and that clients would soon notice and possibly take their business elsewhere, that was the last straw for both of them. Olivia and Steven had mutually agreed – if not amicably – that it was his time… time to move on from Pope & Associates.

Now, another two months had passed since then. Olivia had managed to get past the oft times paralyzing feelings brought on by confirmation of the pregnancy, albeit laced with a glaring misnomer – fourteen weeks pregnant at the time Mellie was _not_. One of the only things in the whole mess Olivia could count on. Despite catching the occasional, setback-inducing and unfortunately in depth feature on the First Lady's 'baby bump', or 'baby-bump watch 2012' as the media had dubbed it, she had gotten back into the swing of things, much more than a mere hologram of her pre-drama self. Olivia was cold and unyielding most of the time, but tender and understanding with everyone – clients, colleagues – when necessary. She and the team had four or five differing and all equally scandalous, U.S. or world economy shattering issues they were juggling at one time, and she was managing them brilliantly, of course.

"Forty _thousand_ e-mails, tweets, blog comments, and good old-fashioned hand-written letters since this time last _week_!" Abby yelled across the conference room incredulously as she dramatically threw the stack of printouts down onto her corner of the massive conference table.

"I _heard_ you the first time!" Harrison fired back. "That doesn't change my position. Marlowe Willis _isn't_ talking to the media about this because it'd be career suicide and social suicide, not to mention the embarrassment and scorn her kids will face at school, on the way home from school, and on the weekends when they won't be at any of the cool parties _anyway_ thanks to the lifestyles of their parents not only going public but being talked about ad nauseum. Sidwell Friends isn't _really_ the friendliest learning institution; it's a slum for the kids of Washington's elite. Thought you knew that already, Abby."

"You realize you just said _'scorn'_, right? All Abby could do was smirk. She knew the ultimate decision lied with Olivia.

Liv just sat back in her chair at the head of the table looking back and forth between Harrison and Abby for a few seconds, giving up a smirk of her own and a telling twinkle of the eye.

"As entertained as I am by your dramatics, Abby…" Abby just rolled her eyes, shook her head and huffed as she plopped down in her chair, "I agree with Harrison, _this time_. The situation is too out of hand for Marlowe to give an interview or even release a statement. Her and her husband are going to quietly go on about their supposedly normal lives. When they see the press – because the press _will_ be there… _everywhere_ – they'll just smile and wave and say 'hello' but keep it moving. I think the best course of action now is to get Huck going on filling up the blogosphere with some counter-intelligence, if you will."

Harrison leaned forward and began nodding slightly while knowingly rubbing his chin. "Flood it with supportive comments, ideas. Public opinion is a game of peer pressure. As soon as the media picks up on the growing sentiment that half of the people who are even bothering to comment about this mess don't care, don't believe it, or don't think the Willis' have done anything wrong… they'll lose interest. The story dies… hopefully."

"Precisely." Olivia stated. "Okay, so-"

"Umm… Olivia?..." Quinn stepped into the conference room with a look of uncertainty on her face.

"Uh-oh…" Abby and Harrison both said in perfect unison halfway under their breaths.

Olivia looked at both of them and shook her head with a tinge of amusement laced with disappointment.

"Ignore them. What's up?"

Quinn picked up the t.v. remote from the console table near the door and pointed it at the flat screen hanging in front of the window beyond the far end of the table. "May I?..." she said tentatively to Olivia. "There's something you might wanna see."

Everyone, including Olivia, braced themselves for news that Marlowe Willis, or perhaps another high-profile client, had disregarded their preliminary advice to keep quiet and not speak to the media. Unable to actually babysit clients 24/7, Olivia had learned that there was little she could do about a client determined to sabotage their own standing by running off at the mouth to the press without checking in first. Olivia sighed and sturdied her back against the chair. "Go 'head," she nodded to Quinn.

"…_the First Lady is resting. She is doing fine. The President is by her side right now as well as the rest of the family. He will make a statement at a later time. Right now, we all just ask for your continued prayers during this difficult period." _

With that, a somewhat tired-looking Cyrus Beene stepped off of the podium amid a blaze of flash-bulbs and screaming reporters all but begging for the chance to get their questions answered.

Olivia's focus was frozen on the screen for a second. She knew to expect clarification from the news anchor that Mellie had suffered a miscarriage. Unknown to everyone else on the planet save, Mellie, Olivia, Fitz, Cyrus and Mellie's physician, a real one this time around. She looked down from the screen and said in a breath "Turn it off. Thanks."

Olivia took a deep breath amidst the deafening silence filling the room and looked around the table at all eyes on her. By now, Huck had come to stand quietly in the doorway and was staring at her too.

Always managing to maintain a neutral face, Olivia smiled slightly and got up from her seat, collecting her things. She looked at each of them again and as she swiftly moved past them and out of the door she said, "Back to work," over her shoulder. The team glanced at each other and then resigned to go about following her directive.

Olivia went into her office and closed the door, pausing for a moment with her back up against it. She couldn't control the knocking in her knees, so she needed to be still, breathe, shut her eyes for a few beats. She threw her shawl and leather notebook down on the sofa and crossed over to the cabinet behind her desk. She rubbed her hand from top to bottom, along the length of the smooth mahogany door of the upper portion, and pulled it open by its brass handle. She pulled out the half spent bottle of Ballantine's 18 and a tumbler and began to pour, intent on creating a private moment of liquid solace. As she turned back to the cabinet with the purpose of closing the door, she caught a glimpse of something she had pushed to the back of it some months ago. A small pewter frame ensconcing a black and white photo from her past. Olivia moved in opposition to the voice screeching through her mind and reached for the photo. She took it out, gently closing the door behind her and sat in her supple, over-sized leather swivel chair behind the desk. She kicked her shoes off and brought her knees up, tucking her legs underneath her. She tenderly placed the photo down on the desk in front of her, treating it as if it were fragile, and traced one of the pewter edges of the frame with her delicate finger. Olivia picked up the crystal tumbler, never taking her eyes off of the photo, and took a long drag not even wincing this time at the burn traveling down and through her insides. One of the many bad habits learned from her one-and-only.

She didn't know what she was feeling, or how she _should_ be feeling. So she resigned herself to just feel the sting of the alcohol. Olivia took a deep breath, and put the nearly empty tumbler down. She picked up her blackberry and stared at it for many moments, contemplating. She could blame the scotch for helping her along as she hit the speed dial and listened to it ring without being overcome with the feeling that she should hang up immediately before the connection was made.

Too late.

"Hello…"

_**Dun, dun, duuuunnnnn! LOLOL! Your speculations are welcome (however, I don't know yet myself – not exactly – who or what will come into view immediately in the next chapter). **_

_**I WILL make every effort to update this no later than tomorrow evening. If I get REALLY inspired, later this evening (wee hours of tomorrow morning) is also a possibility. **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Okay! LOL! Neyo… VERY perceptive. Yes. At some point, there will be some hot, steamy, dirty thangs going on, so I had to make sure to properly rate this fic. Will it be between Fitz and Liv? Uhhh... Well… yes, at some point. LMAO! chocolate1… Ahahaha! I LOVE your point of view! **_

_**This chapter is a little shorter, but I needed it to set up some very, very, VERY critical happenings coming up next. I mean… things are about to get really interesting for EVERYONE. Thank you all again for your comments (and critiques), and thank you for your patience. All roads really do lead to a confrontation between Fitz and Liv… I promise (*tiny font*: I just can't promise that it'll be REAL soon… LOLOL!).**_

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**_

**Chapter 3**

"Olivia."

"How is he, Cy?" she said fighting back the emotion straining under the surface.

"As well as can be expected."

Silence. Olivia couldn't tell if he meant overall, after everything that had occurred going back over the past four months, or specifically with regard to the miscarriage. There was so much she wanted to say… to ask, but she didn't trust Cyrus. And she definitely wasn't going to try to call Fitz directly. She was a complete outsider now and for good, and truthfully that had been taking its toll.

"I _hate_ this."

"I know, Olivia. You've been strong. I'm sure it hasn't been easy."

"No..." Olivia paused for a long while. "It hasn't." She gave a defeated sigh. "But-"

"But it had to be."

Silence.

"He'll be fine, Liv."

"I know." She shook her head, wanting to kick herself for being weak and calling Cyrus. "Okay. Thanks."

"See you soon? We should talk. Lunch or something."

"Maybe. I'm _so_ busy."

"Same here." Cyrus sighed this time. "Bye, Liv."

"Goodbye, Cyrus."

As soon as the call ended and Olivia put the phone down, she inhaled raggedly, deeply, filling her lungs with air. She was overwhelmed and began to cry and cry. She silently wept for a good five minutes with her head down, eyes closed, and her hand covering her forehead. As she cried, her body shook from deep inside, reaching her bones, muscles and skin and she tried to press her back and her bottom further down into her chair wanting to sink all the way underneath it until she disappeared into nothing.

She gave herself a few moments to re-gain her composure but also to allow the feelings of want and frustration to register in her heart and mind. She was so disconnected from Fitz now that she couldn't even imagine what he was thinking or feeling. When she worked with him, when they were together, Olivia had always had that talent, being able to see things the way he saw them almost as if looking at surroundings through _his_ very eyes. She _knew_ him. Knew when he was experiencing the utmost emotions. Knew when he was happy. Knew when he was bored, excited, frustrated, exhausted. But right now there was nothing. Nothing connecting them to each other. No scandals that she needed to fix for him. No reasonable basis for her to be anywhere within a mile of him. That realization made her feel numb.

She wondered if he felt alone too. She wondered if his heart was broken from losing the baby. She wondered if he were emotionally circling the drain about to fall into deep despair because of his circumstances. She wondered if he missed her, needed her, wanted her comfort and love right now.

For some reason she needed to remember all of this. To remember how she felt right now, in this moment. She never, ever wanted to go through this again… go from loving someone so deeply to having absolutely nothing of them. More than her own angst, she desperately fought off the destructive hopelessness of imagining Fitz' pain. She wasn't going to be able to function if she allowed herself to think about that.

Olivia straightened herself upright, put her shoes back on, checked herself in the mirror touching up her cheeks with a bit of powder, re-applying some marred eyeliner, and smoothed her hair down. She returned the scotch to it's rightful place, and without hardly looking at the photograph again, placed the frame face down in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, shutting it indefinitely.

She had a life to live and a business to run, over and above the pain – her own, but also what she imagined of Fitz' as well – that she guessed she'd be haunted by for a very, very long time. Olivia turned to her computer, gave the universe a determined sigh, and got to work because, as always, duty called. Even if the pain were going to be a constant companion, she had to shrug off its effects and move on.

****

It had been five weeks since the miscarriage and Mellie had completed the last of her physical examinations. She had been given a clean bill of health by her physicians, not that there was ever any indication that she was ill or had any chronic condition that was to blame for this. They told her it just happened. Stress perhaps. She would be forty-six years old on her next birthday, and although she was healthy as could be, these things occurred about 40% of the time for women in her age group for a myriad of reasons. Everyone kept telling her how lucky she was that she didn't have major hemorrhaging and that she could still conceive and apparently carry to term if she were to become pregnant again in the future.

She told herself she didn't care, that it was just as well. She had done her duty, again. Above and beyond actually. She swooped in like the good wife and saved Fitz' presidency, again. She had held up her end of the arrangement and gotten pregnant quickly, with almost no assistance from him. Almost. She wasn't getting pregnant again after this. That part of her life was gladly behind her.

As she stared through the library's French doors out onto the expansive acreage of red, orange, and yellow fall foliage surrounding the residence compound of Camp David, Mellie told herself that she was meant for a greater purpose than to be a mother of three and perpetual stay-at-home wife of the leader of the free world. Her eyes were glazed over with determination and a sliver of a vision of the future as she fought against allowing herself to embrace the sadness she really felt deep down. She knew why the baby hadn't made it to full term. She hadn't really wanted it and neither did Fitz because they didn't really love each other, and they both had other plans. She most certainly did, and after knowing Fitz for most of her adult life, she could make an educated guess that he felt the same.

For being focused on the forest in her line of sight and the possibilities filling her head, she didn't hear him come up from behind and stand near to her looking out onto the expanse of land beyond the house.

"How are you today?"

Taken aback by the unexpected company, Mellie jumped a little. "Jesus, Fitz. You scared me." She rolled her eyes, and sighed with a hand to her heart as if trying to regulate her heartbeat. She turned away from him to walk over to the other side of the room intent on sitting on one of the enormous, full-grain leather couches.

"I'm fine. I've _been_ fine. I think it's time for me to get back, don't you?" She asked rhetorically, looking up at her husband with her usual spirit, hands crossed on her lap defiantly.

Fitz looked tired and even slightly disheveled. Although his finely tailored dress shirt and slacks hung perfectly on his lithe, muscular frame, his strikingly handsome face was notably different. His most stirring feature – his eyes – had been red for what seemed to her like days, and the tender flesh underneath them had taken on a slightly darker appearance in contrast to rest of his paled skin. The effect the last several months and weeks had on him hadn't gone unnoticed to Mellie although she was certainly dealing with her own demons. He had a few more grey hairs at his temples and she hadn't seen him smile, really smile in forever. If Mellie didn't know any better, Fitz appeared to be the President of a broken resolve. If true, that wouldn't be a good situation for anyone. She usually put her own interests and those of the kids before his, but she didn't hate Fitz. She didn't _want_ to see him always be so stressed out and unhappy. Problem was, she already knew that there was little she could do to fix it.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked over to where she was sitting. He sighed and looked down at his feet as he made his way, and drew his lips into a tight non-smiling smile. Mellie just looked at him. She hadn't lasted a full week during the mourning period over their loss. She had been antsy for weeks, back to her old self, snapping orders at everyone trying hard to pull together the well-oiled machine she had created over the years with her office staffers and the residence staff. So, the look she gave to Fitz now reminded him of the old Mellie come back to life, wiped clean of any soothing motherly feelings pregnant hormones had invaded her body with.

"I think…" Fitz started and just as quickly stopped. He still looked over in the direction of the forest. Something had entered his mind interrupting his thoughts. "I think you're right. It is time for you to come back to the White House."

"Alright." Mellie perked up slightly. "I'll have Jennifer pull together my itinerary." She began to stand up with a renewed focus on her plans for returning to business as usual at the White House. "She can get the kids and I on the Jetstream by Sunday. I'll get some things organized before you get back on…" she turned to Fitz. "When are you coming back, dear? Tuesday?"

He was still looking out of the French doors and the focus of his eyes was somewhere far away, beyond their physical location. "Yes. Tuesday." He finally broke his concentration from whatever specter had been present and looked up at Mellie. "I have a few meetings next week, and then I'm going to come back here and set up shop for a couple of weeks. That should give you enough time."

Mellie stopped cold. Something about his word choice caused a ripple of fear to quickly snake up her spine. "Enough time for _what_?" she said to him honestly confused.

"To make some plans and then get everyone back to the house in Montecito."

She slowly walked over to him and sat down, staring up at the side of his face. She looked him over completely, trying to pull together her thoughts into a formula that made sense. She put her hand tenderly on his wrist, bringing him out of is forward gaze. Fitz looked at Mellie, this time breaking into a soft, small, honest smile. His eyes were softer too. They were kinder and clearer than she remembered in recent times.

"Plans? Fitz, what are you talking about?"

"It's time, Mellie. I've already talked to Martin about it. You and I are getting a divorce."

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**_

_**A/N: This whole divorce thing… SMH… bad, bad news for Fitz. Some trying times ahead. Oh… whatever will happen? *sighs* **_

_**Until next time… (maybe tomorrow, most likely Wednesday). **_

_**XOXO**_


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay... First, a disclaimer: I am so, so, SO very sorry for how long it's taken me to write/post this, and for how long this chapter has turned out to be. I REALLY didn't intend for this to be the case, but I got a little carried away I think. Anyway, it sets up the juicy stuff (a Fitz-Liv reunion of sorts... maybe?) coming in Chapters 5 and 6 (both chapters almost complete). Please be patient with me. I have a LOT of ground to cover and my artistic mind won't let me skip details. That being said, I hope you enjoy. More to come (sooner rather than later). Again, THANK YOU for your reviews. Thank you for the PM's. As always, I welcome your honest feedback. XOXO. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

"Wha-what?..." All of the color drained out of Mellie's face and her mouth sagged at the edges as her eyes began to fill up with tears. As Fitz looked at her in this moment, he couldn't help but feel some sadness. He wanted to be very clear and get the deed done, but despite everything Mellie had done, his interest didn't lie squarely in taking revenge, not really. His satisfaction once they were completely, legally over would be immense, and maybe if she were taught some lesson in the process he'd count that as an accidental bonus, but his aim wasn't to hurt her on purpose. He was tired of that life; them taking shots at each other over and over again.

She almost looked sad, which immediately changed into mortification and finally anger. "Mother_fucker_!" she spat, halfway under her breath, halfway in Fitz' direction, as she forcefully stood and began pacing like a panther in heat.

"You must really be fucking dumb! You have finally lost your mind, haven't you?" She said, looking at him incredulously while she continued to pace, alternating talking with screaming.

Melanie Ingrid Carmichael Grant was a true lady born and bred, but she had learned to cuss and fight like a pro from her relatively new money, old school, scrappy, hardcore, Irish father – Cormack 'Mack' Earnan Carmichael, IV – watching as he lashed out at her, her mother, and siblings, and used his skills of oration to bend the wills of his business allies and enemies to his own. Besides being a heavyweight boxer in the navy – and at 6'4 and 230 lbs in his younger days, a champion – he was a shrewd, scary businessman who never, ever lost. Or, at least, he somehow got rid of anyone who'd eve suggested they had gotten the better of him within the realm of the Wall Street empire he built on his talent for mergers, acquisitions… and other things.

Everyone else was afraid of her father, but despite his strong hand, Mellie mostly admired him for being able to manipulate the world around him to get what he wanted… needed. From capturing the interest and eventually the dedication of her mother, the exquisitely beautiful society debutante of extremely wealthy old world blue blood stock, Lilly-Ann Shipley, to taking charge of the Shipley estate at the near financial demise and sudden death of his wife's father, to resurrecting the Shipley brand and fortune by merging the family's holdings with his, creating CE Carmichael-Shipley Industries import-export conglomerate, to breeding the most beautiful, well-appointed, prim, proper, and highly educated children to grace the Greenwich, Connecticut dynastic family annals of previous decades. The Shipleys were among the seven or eight wealthiest and most powerful families in Greenwich and parts surrounding, outdone in prestige only by the Astors, Hiltons, and Vanderbilts of the Eastern seaboard, to name a few. But, her father's people fought for their places in society, low or high. They weren't born into privilege like her mother and she and her siblings were. They weren't afraid of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears to have the lives they wanted.

Melanie Grant hadn't been raised to bend over and take her stripes at the behest of anyone else, even her own husband, regardless if he was the President of the United States, and the product of a powerful family dynasty in his own right. She didn't know what kind of cool aid Fitz had been drinking or who had gotten into his head, but she was going to make her point clear… she'd have nothing of a divorce, not anytime soon. If Fitz was serious about going down this road – and she more than suspected he was – she was going to dig in and fight tooth and nail, with no possible option but to come out victorious in the end.

"How dare you talk to Martin behind my back, Fitz! How _dare_ you!" Mellie stepped closer to Fitz, where he was still sitting on the couch, and pointed her finger in his face. She was essentially towering over him, her ice cold blue eyes filled with fire. She lowered her voice and bent in closer to him, placing her other hand on her hip. "I am not going _any_ fucking where, or hadn't I already made that clear?!"

Fitz just watched her, at first leaning forward balancing his elbows on both knees with his hands in front of his mouth as if praying for her to shut up. Then, he let out a resigned sigh and sat back crossing one leg over the other. He crossed his arms over his chest and just continued to watch her as she ranted.

"Fuck you, fuck your idealism, fuck your naive little ruminations, and _fuck_ Olivia Pope! That cow isn't going to slide her hot little ass into _my_ fucking place! I worked for this, Fitz! I have put up with this shit for _all_ of these years and it _wasn't_ for nothing, goddammit!" She stalked away from him towards the other side of the study, her back turned to him.

Fitz straightened up at the mention of Olivia's name. "Alright… That's enough…" His voice a low and deadly near-growl, changing from resigned indifference at Mellie's reaction to having finally been told about his divorce plans, to being full of warning. "This has nothing to do with _her_! She's a non-factor so don't you bring her name up to me!" Truthfully, Fitz didn't know why he had gotten so upset just now at the mention of Olivia's name. It's not like she hadn't been on his mind incessantly over the past few months. She more than had. The level of protectiveness over her surging through him right now was competing with the intense hurt and anger he still felt at what she'd done to him; the mixture made his heart palpitate, and the change in his demeanor – from calmness to panic – hadn't escaped Mellie.

Mellie spun around on her well-appointed heels and double-timed back towards Fitz with a look of disbelief on her face. "You _are_ insane," she laughed. "Whether you really _have_ deluded yourself into believing that, or whether you're trying to throw me off the scent, you're certifiable. _'She's a non-factor'_," Mellie mocked him. "Hah! Please, asshole. She's _everything_! Every fucking time I turn around your pathetic ass is curled up in the corner somewhere mourning the irreversible loss of her highness, Olivia fucking Pope, when you _should_ be concentrating on being President!" Fitz could only respond by staring at her, mouth agape at first. Then he closed his mouth and pressed his lips together into a thin line. He wasn't going to argue this point with Mellie. As much as it sickened him to admit it to himself, she was at least partially right. He had been an emotional wreck the last several months with everything that had happened. Despite that, he had found a way to pull himself up by his bootstraps and tend, brilliantly, to his Presidential duties.

Mellie brought her hands up to the sides of her head in dramatic fashion, as if preparing to tear her hair out. She shook her head and huffed loudly. "God, I _hate_ you!"

"Yes… that much is clear." Fitz stood and began to walk past her, dismissively. As he thought he made it just clear of her, and almost to the French doors, Mellie was pulled from her rage long enough to notice. She reached for him and grabbed at his forearm with one hand, with a mind to slap his face, hard, with the other. Fitz spun around with a look of caution in his eyes and clasped his hand over hers. With deadly calm he said, "Don't even think about it," as he threw her hand off of him. "We'll continue this conversation when you're capable of discussing it like a normal adult." With that, he walked out of the study with Mellie calling behind him. "Fitz!... _Fitz_! Goddamnit!"

She turned and stomped her foot like a petulant child, face reddened with anger. "Oooh!" she screamed angry and frustrated. The only reason she didn't chase him through the halls was because the residence was crawling with staff, and Mellie wasn't willing to add to her embarrassment by having an episode in front of the help.

Yes. Mellie was going to formulate her own brand of a defense, the likes of which Fitz couldn't imagine.

* * *

"Hi, hello, how are you?"

"Hey, kiddo…"

"Uh-oh," Olivia intonated as she sighed and sat down at their special table at Art & Soul, set towards the back of the restaurant between the patio doors and the fireplace. She and Cyrus had regularly occupied this very table over the years whenever they had the rare opportunity to even go out for lunch as an alternative to being forced to catch a quick bite – if at all – on White House grounds.

"Yeah. It's one of those days." Cyrus responded as he watched her take her seat.

Olivia was beyond uneasy at agreeing to join Cyrus for lunch, this time at his bequest. He never told her what he needed over the phone before seeing her face-to-face. Never, ever. She knew it had something to do with _him_, though. It always did. And, she knew she was a fool for not changing her phone number by now or at least for not adamantly refusing to see Cyrus over the President's nonsense. But she literally couldn't help herself. It was an illness she had no cure for. It drove her crazy and she hated herself for exposing herself to knowledge of Fitz' latest predicament, whatever it may be. There always seemed to be _something_. Even if she were determined not to get involved, she found herself desperate to keep track of what was happening with him… _really_ happening… and, unfortunately, Cyrus was her only inside source these days.

"What's going on?" Olivia waited as she took a sip of her iced tea.

"He's filed for divorce."

Olivia nearly choked out her beverage, taken completely off guard by Cyrus' statement. As she leaned forward to wipe the drippage from her mouth, Cyrus symbolically patted her back in a slow cadence, not really helping to clear her windpipe, his dark blue eyes never leaving her face.

As she patted her mouth with the stiff white piece of cloth, Olivia chuckled a nervous chuckle and then looked up at Cyrus, thanking him for his assistance but assuring him he could stop.

"From Mellie?" Olivia asked rhetorically.

Cyrus just sat back and sighed, shaking his head hopelessly and looking past Olivia at the birds happily landing and taking off over and over outside of the French doors leading to the restaurant patio. How he wished he could be one of those birds.

"Liv…"

"What? Good. Good for him. For them. It's about time, wouldn't you say?" Olivia's mouth was speaking the words and dripping with immense sarcasm, but her nearly choking on her iced tea was in earnest. At the suggestion that Fitz would divorce Mellie now, after so much had happened, her heart leapt into her throat making swallowing the drink physically impossible. She was trying to keep her cool on the outside though, given her immediate audience.

Cyrus sighed again. "Maybe you're right." He had ritualistically unfolded the fabric napkin and placed it across his lap awaiting a server to take their lunch order, but now he threw it onto the table in frustration. He shook his head, looking back and forth between Olivia and the scene outside – the free flying birds, skies filling with clouds, and the fall foliage being replaced with bare branches. "I'm tired." His eyes looked it. If Olivia didn't know just whom she was dealing with, she would've almost felt sorry for Cyrus.

She sat back in her chair, recovered from her choking attack, and just looked at Cyrus shaking her head now.

"Well, I've literally done _all_ I could do for the man." Of course, that statement had a double meaning. "I'm out of ideas. You should've jumped ship a long time ago Cy, like I did." Olivia had barely gotten the words out of her mouth and they left a bitter taste and a sickening feeling. Again she was betraying Fitz as well as the truth of her own deeper feelings. She was beginning to grow angry with herself for even feeling guilty about it.

Cyrus snapped his head to look Olivia dead in the eye, and leaned in close, grasping her hand, which was atop the table. Olivia looked down in confusion and then back up at Cyrus seeing the distress – and danger – in his eyes.

"Cy?..." Olivia asked slowly in a low, guarded tone. She stared back, heart nearly thumping out of her chest. She wondered if Cyrus could see what she was _really_ feeling by looking into her eyes.

"Jump ship?" Cyrus seethed. Olivia all but snatched her hand back, but he continued, leaning in even further so as not to be overheard by anyone who was sitting nearby.

"I don't _jump ship_. That's _your_ pattern. Like a rat fleeing from the fire, you just run off when things get hot. And don't pretend like what you did with Mellie was just for his benefit. Don't forget, I know you Olivia. That move was just as much for yourself as it was for him… maybe more." Olivia felt what she likened to an invisible slap across the face at Cyrus' words and her heart felt as if it had been squeezed by the same invisible hand. She deserved it, though because he was right.

Cyrus sat back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with himself. "Be clear, he's doing this because of _you_. _You_ need to fix this."

Olivia laughed, although she didn't find anything funny. Ridiculous, really, that Cyrus should challenge her on 'running away' as he put it. If Cyrus weren't trying to strong-arm her into saving his beloved President from scandal, he was blaming her for Fitz' troubles and trying desperately to run her off and restrict her from even stepping foot on White House grounds. This was rich. Cyrus blaming her and then having the audacity to presume that she could or would fix anything. But she was also pissed off that he had hit a nerve.

"Did you just call me a rat?" Olivia asked not wanting or expecting an answer. She scoffed and shook her head, masking her inner-turmoil, and put her hand on her purse preparing to make her exit. "You confused, sad little man, you. You're gonna get enough of calling me names in the same breath that you demand my assistance," she said as she began to rise to her feet. She looked at Cyrus. "Really… don't contact me again. I mean it this time. Goodbye."

As she turned to step around the table and leave, Cyrus grabbed her wrist, gently this time, and looked up at her. "He can't do this, Olivia. He just _can't_."

Olivia, knew she'd burst into tears if she didn't hurry. With the handles of her purse secured over her wrist, she removed Cyrus' hand from her other one, shakily smiled down at him and leaned in. "I don't care _what_ he does. And, you've officially and forever used up your favors with me. Have a good day, Cyrus."

At that, Olivia quickly strutted away from the table, her gait hiding the miserable storm brewing deep in her stomach and beginning to boil up through her whole body as Cyrus' revelation really started to register.

When she retrieved her car from the valet, Olivia got inside, thanking the young man with a tip and pulled off. After turning the corner and driving a few more feet, she pulled over into an empty spot and stopped the vehicle. Hands shaking and heart beating almost at an unnatural rate, she struggled to turn the key in the ignition to the off position.

She sat – again – nearly hyperventilating, nervous smiles alternating with confusion twitching across her face. It was _that _feeling. The one that crippled her. The one that unwelcomed thoughts of or all too welcomed but inappropriate closeness and touches from Fitz brought on. She alternated between feeling that and feeling guilt for abandoning him. Her mind was racing as she put her right hand over her heart to confirm that she really needed to calm down.

Olivia's eyes began to water as the emotions creeping up over her started to register in her mind… hopefulness?... happiness?... absolute uncertainty. She shook her head and laughed at herself. "You're fucking insane," she whispered to no one. She immediately thought of Steven in that second, wondering where he was, exactly, and what he was doing. Wondering if he was happy. Then, instantly, her thoughts changed to, "he was wrong." She smiled briefly and shook her head again. "I think he was wrong," she quietly said, again to no one. But, then she remembered that she had created a self-fulfilling prophecy. She made certain that she couldn't have Fitz when she walked away from him. He hated her. Even if she wanted to see him now, he'd have none of it.

This was it. Her breakdown. Olivia recognized that she was parked when she should've been driving, breathing irregularly, and talking to herself. In addition, she _never_ really perspired, but she was feeling the uncomfortable tingle under her arms, down her back, and across her forehead and upper lip of the beginnings of warm moisture. She unbuckled her seatbelt, threw her jacket off of her shoulders and arms, and turned the ignition key just enough to be able to crack the windows.

Olivia was overcome with many conflicting thoughts and feelings, many of which she knew were unreasonable. What if Cyrus was right? What if Fitz was doing this because of her? He had told Olivia those months ago, before everything changed forever, that he was ready to divorce Mellie and leave office… for _her_. She knew he would follow through with it, but truthfully wasn't ready for the likely fall out so she ran off. But, now… was he doing this to prove to her he was serious? Was he somehow sending a message to Olivia that he still wanted her and wasn't going to allow her to just walk away from them? Fitz _had_ to know that Cyrus would come to her, immediately, and try to get her to stop this from happening. For all of Cyrus' posturing, spiteful words, and diabolical actions, he still believed that Olivia had some unmatched influence over the decisions Fitz made and when worse came to worse, he _always_ reached out to her to reel Fitz in.

Olivia hadn't noticed it until she had calmed down some and reached up to wipe the moisture away from her cheeks and eyes. She had been crying. Her head was still swimming with ideas she didn't know what to do with – some of them ridiculous notions of hopefulness and unreal possibilities – but she couldn't dwell right now; she had work to do, clients to tend to. With some flicker of a feeling that she hadn't felt in a long while, Olivia headed back to her office to end her workday by being who she was.

* * *

"So, now he's sending you to hand deliver messages to me? He's really punk-enough to hide away while you do his dirty work?" Mellie huffed at Cyrus. "Why am I not surprised." She rolled her eyes, and bit her bottom lip, turning away from Cyrus so he couldn't see her fighting back the frustration and tears. Standing in their enormous Master bedroom, she continued her attentions to packing, unpacking, re-arranging and re-packing her short-term travel items. Later, she intended to obtain her team of assistants' help with doing the same for Karen and Gerry.

"Mrs. Grant, I-"

"Mrs. _Grant_," she spat with disgust laced through her tone as she continued to now shove items into one of her bags. "Just stoppit! You know, as well as I, that this is the end of days, Cyrus. What the _hell_ have you been doing while Fitz has been scheming?! Helping him along, no doubt!" She turned and came towards him, but he stood his ground, more curious than anything to see if she'd come unhinged enough to physically attack him. Humorous as it would be, he wouldn't be beyond defending himself… with a little extra bite, even if not entirely necessary. Cyrus just stood, shoulders back and head slightly cocked to one side, staring at her head-on, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. Mellie got close enough to him for him to feel her breath on his face. She had her hands on her hips as she spoke, confident and low. "Don't think for a minute that this is going to go down as planned. If you value what you've helped put together, you had better get your boy in line. I am sick and _tired_ of his shenanigans!" She turned, but then quickly turned back as if she'd remembered something. And, her tongue dripping with sarcasm and disdain, she said, "Oh, and this time, how about let's _not_ get Olivia Pope on this, kay?" that last word pontificated with a raised finger. At that, she went back over to where she had been packing.

Cyrus rolled his eyes and backed up, running his hand over his face, while shoving the other in his pants pocket. He just sighed and shook his head. Little did she know he had tried and failed to do just that – get Olivia to somehow help fix this. "Mrs. Grant, I am sorry, truly. But, this is out of my hands." Cyrus wasn't sorry for the impact to her, and hardly for the kids. He was sorry for himself and sorry for his husband because of the public firestorm that was about to ignite and explode in their faces. This meant no rest, at all, for the weary, and weary he was. It seemed that even since before the election, the world of Fitzgerald Thomas Grant, III had been teetering on the brink of collapse, and threatening to take him down along with it. He too was fed up with the constant drama. He couldn't understand how so many problems could regularly arise in and around the life of a man so clearly created for the office of President.

Cyrus took a deep breath and completed the task at hand. "I came here to let you know that the President is landing on the South lawn as we speak. He'll be up shortly, and wants to speak with you privately, before he sees the kids. After that, perhaps first thing tomorrow, he wants a meeting with you and the attorneys before you all leave for California."

Mellie immediately froze her movements and straightened up, her face still turned away from Cyrus. Her shoulders slumped slightly at first, then rose up and took on a defined form discernable under her pretty silk blouse. She slowly turned to him, looking down at the floor at first and holding a printed, half-folded pashmina in her hands. She slowly looked up at Cyrus, her eyes narrow, as if searching his face for more than his simple message. Mellie's chest rose and fell, and although her expression didn't change, her face gradually became more flush. "Fine," was all she was willing to say. She waited as he got the message and turned to leave.

Before Cyrus could step completely over the threshold and into the hallway, Fitz made his way into the doorway and looked knowingly at him. Cyrus quietly nodded at him once, with what could only be described as disappointment on his face, and walked on in the direction of the West Wing. Fitz came fully into the room and closed the door behind him.

Mellie continued her work, knowing he was there, but not really wanting to be distracted from her thoughts and feelings in that moment. Since the other day, when Fitz shocked her with his declaration, and even as she spoke the words she spoke to Cyrus just a few moments ago, she quickly began to realize that the battle wouldn't be won – or even fought – on _his_ turf. She had quickly calculated in her mind over the past 24 or so hours that she would probably need to verbally agree to some things while she was still in Washington, but really put her own terms into effect and plans into motion when she returned home to California. _Home to California. _She scoffed at that internally. She was going to have to make other arrangements; probably gather some items from the estate in Mendocino and open up the family home in Greenwich. But, that could wait.

Fitz looked down at his feet as he slowly walked further into the room approaching her. His hands were in his pockets almost as a defense to the unknown. He stopped when he was close enough to reach out and touch her. Mellie stopped her movements and turned, not looking at him. She moved over a few steps to sit on the plush couch situated just beyond their bed, and began smoothing her skirt with the palms of her hands as she crossed her legs at the ankles. She sat, back straight, on guard and looked up at Fitz, giving him a dishonest smile. Her blue eyes sparkled in the light that came in through the open floor-to-ceiling curtains, but they were still bare of any warmth or recognition.

Fitz followed suit, and walked over to sit not really next to her at the other end of the couch, and he turned to her. Mellie, looked down at the antique, Napoleon-era coffee table in front of her, but then looked up at Fitz expectantly. She still had the small smile painted on her face. She just waited for him to speak.

"Melanie, the other day I-…" Fitz sighed, finding it hard now to find the right words, words that wouldn't set her off and turn this conversation into another battle. "I don't want to hurt you… more than I already have. But it's time for us to end this. This isn't healthy for either of us or the kids. I thought we could find a way to push through, but both of us being miserable for a moment longer isn't worth it." He took her silence as an invitation to continue. "The time is now and the sooner we resolve this, the better for everyone involved. Now, I promised to take care of you and-…"

Mellie finally broke her silence, cutting him off mid sentence. "Oh, _please_, Fitz. I don't need you to take care of me. No. It was the other way around, remember?" She cocked her head to the side. Fitz didn't even try to respond at that point. He couldn't say he was completely shocked at her indignation, but he was hoping she would hear him out. "This arrangement we've had hasn't been easy for me either, but I was committed to our vows. I _never_ cheated, _ever_! Lord knows I wanted to. I came close a few times, but I didn't cross that line. But you… you were weak." Mellie's eyes began to water and her cheeks reddened. "You _are_ weak and that's why you can't stick it out. Off you run to Olivia, or to God knows who, and you take your whole life, _my_ life, Karen and Gerry's futures along with you!"

"That's not true, Mel." Fitz was halfway between anger and sadness, sadness he was becoming all too familiar with. He just shook his head, breaking eye contact with her.

"I'm not doing this to run off with Olivia." He put his hand on hers and held it firm so that she couldn't just yank it away. "That part of my life is over too. It's _been_ over." Just saying those words made Fitz feel immediately nauseous. He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh, fighting back the tears come to meet his feelings of failure where his marriage, and then where Olivia was concerned.

"I didn't realize at the time that being with her hurt you so much… I was a fool. I should have. I should have been stronger. I should've done _so_ many things differently." He wasn't thinking just about Mellie, though. He was being honest with her, but he knew he had hurt Olivia too by pulling her into his misery and then leaving her exposed to scandal, Mellie's judgment, Cyrus' disappointment. Everything was a mess. But he wanted to fix it now, starting with this.

"Yes. You should have realized." Mellie said quietly. A long moment of silence crept up between them, both recognizing that this was the sort of discussion they hadn't had, that they probably should've had, years ago.

Mellie turned his hand over into both of hers and held it there. "I don't want this, Fitz…" She almost showed the panic she was really feeling underneath her relatively calm exterior. "I _really_ don't." She held his hand close to her chest so that he could feel her quick-paced heartbeat. "Can't we just…"

Fitz pulled his hand away as gently as possible and looked into her eyes. "No, Mel." He shook his head and pressed his palm against her cheek, genuine concern filling his eyes. "We can't. This… is… over."

The fear and vulnerability that had just been in her eyes was gone just as quickly, replaced by the rage he was familiar with. She just smiled the icy grin, her lips pressed together, that he was used to. "Well alright." She sighed and removed his hand from her. "Can't say I didn't try." She crossed her arms and looked at him smugly waiting to hear his next move.

Fitz knew he had crossed the point of no return now. He had drawn a line in the sand and Mellie was either going to go along with it nicely – which he doubted – or she was going to hit him hard when he least expected it. Either way, he was a man determined to enter the next phase of his life, come what may.

* * *

After they finished their discussion, Fitz left Mellie to her packing. Later on in the evening, they sat down after dinner with Karen and Gerry and broke the news to them. Karen cried and Gerry sat stoic, but both of the teenagers indicated they knew things were bad between them and had been dreading the day that they'd make it official. Mellie fumed, thinking of her own sidelined plans, but also genuinely feeling like a bad mother who had failed to protect her children from immense disappointment and pain. Fitz felt the same way and the guilt that had been smoldering for the longest took on new life. It really began to eat away at him.

The following few days were taken up with so many cabinet meetings and strategizing sessions with members of the Senate's foreign policy committee due to a new crisis reaching a boiling point along the border of Russia and Armenia. Also, there was the inevitable meeting between Fitz, Mellie, and their attorneys to discuss and try to lock down settlement terms. Later that week, Fitz had to see her and the children off at the airport as they made their way back to California. Despite the turmoil caused by the talk of divorce, the kid's one consolation was that they got to go back home and jump into the school semester that had been underway for just a few weeks, and re-connect with a bunch of their friends. Fitz and Mellie still had some items to hash-out, but he was starting to work with Cyrus and his most trusted speechwriter, Mike Kelley, on a statement the White House would release to the press corps in the following weeks.

Cyrus had come to the Oval Office after finishing up some late night meetings of his own to try to reason with Fitz. Instead of finding him wrapping up phone calls and finalizing some notes he had been working on for a discussion he had been planning with the high-ranking directors of the National Urban League, Cyrus walked in on Fitz throwing back what was likely his third or fourth glass of scotch. "Sir… the terms haven't been finalized yet and you haven't signed anything. I'm _asking_ you to reconsider."

"Now's not the time, Cy. It's been a long week, or hadn't you noticed." Fitz' speech was slightly slurred now and his mood was sour. He got up from his chair, almost stumbling over the leg of his desk, and rounded it to try and locate a fresh decanter of scotch since he had spent one over the past few hours.

"Sir…"

"This wasn't an executive decision, Cyrus." Fitz wasn't trying to yell, but his impaired judgment contributed to his unnecessarily booming voice. "This wasn't political," he continued. "Therefore, it's not up for discussion. If I sink on this, I sink. The American people are going to have to take me, good with the bad, and since the divorce rate in this country has been well above 40% – and consistently rising – over the last three and a half decades anyway, I have to believe that my getting a divorce while in office isn't going to completely eradicate all of the good I've done." Fitz staggered past Cyrus towards the back wall of his office.

Cyrus' face turned red within seconds, and he looked down trying to remember to tread carefully, especially since Fitz could be a bastard when he was inebriated. Frankly, Cyrus was fed up with trying to advise him when he was in this condition. Problem was, for the past few nights in a row, that's exactly what he'd been forced to do.

"Mr. President, you have had the good fortune to survive scandal after scandal during your term in this office…" Fitz stopped before reaching his small, hidden liquor cabinet and looked at Cyrus with deadly attention, ready to come swinging. "_This_ will be the death of your political career." Cyrus stepped closer to him. "They will come for you over this. All they need is a reason." With that, Cyrus had finished today's diatribe and he was spent. He was going to go home to his angry husband – a much welcomed atmosphere in comparison to this stifling one.

As soon as Cyrus left the office, Fitz closed the door behind him and locked it. He abandoned his original intent to fix himself another drink and plunked back down into his chair instead. He swiveled it so that he could stare out of the windows into the darkness of Fall. He couldn't see anything though, either because of the alcohol or because of the unfallen tears blurring his vision. Maybe both.

All he thought about was her. He was about to step into a political storm of magnificent proportions – one of his own making – and he was completely alone. This time, he didn't have Olivia by his side to help him and cheer him on and remind him that he was worthy. She was the only person in his whole life besides his children who had ever made him feel that way… worthy. It was a strange feeling. It was more than false pride or arrogance. It was like unconditional love given and returned in full, without question. He missed her so much that he saw her face when his eyes were open _and_ when he tried to rest. Her face, her smile especially, would flash across his mind at the most inopportune moments. He was restless. He still couldn't sleep. And he was miserable. He couldn't be with her because, frankly, he was afraid she'd just leave again and she had made it clear she didn't want him anyway. But, being without her was killing him, he was sure.

Fitz didn't know what would happen now that he was committed to doing his job and without the façade of a bad marriage seemingly holding things together. He didn't know if and how strongly Mellie might come for him despite his hope to truly end things amicably. All he knew is that he had to do it all without the love of his life in his corner, and although he _had_ to move forward he wasn't convinced he'd make it.

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**I promise... interaction between the dynamic duo (but also some other stuff that might make you guys a little angry with me) coming soon. LOL! *smiles... runs off* **


	5. Chapter 5

**_A/N: Okay... no excuses from me for taking so long again. My sincerest apologies. Thank you all for your reviews and pm's, again. This is another long one, but we'll get the first of a couple upcoming Fitz/Liv reunions in the NEXT chapter. Part of the reason it took me so long to update this one was because I basically re-wrote a good portion of this chapter; I got stumped at one point and didn't like where I was going with it, so... alas. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is much appreciated. :-) _**

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**CHAPTER 5 **

"My sister has been in Egypt for seven months right in the thick of things."

"Oh my God, Peter! Seven _months_?! Why didn't you tell me before now? Have you heard from her? How is she doing?"

When she received the welcomed surprise of a telephone call from Peter Haslip, one of her closest friends (and former flirt-buddy) in undergrad at Georgetown, Olivia had been running back and forth between D.C. and New York City personally handling a growing situation involving Israel's Representative to the United Nations, Ron Prosor.

It had been a very long time – months – since Fitz and Mellie had released a joint statement about the divorce, and Olivia hadn't heard from Cyrus at all. Months. Even with the changes all around her – the seasons, clients whose scandals she'd fixed – some things never seemed to die. She still always had Fitz on the brain. Just like when she left her post at the White House, it almost felt unreal to her that so much time had passed – nearly an entire year – since she'd seen him face-to-face or talked to him on the phone. But the bouts of crying she had been prone to before had stopped. The media even began to suggest that Fitz was seeing someone. A lovely young woman from overseas. When Olivia had first seen the news report about a possible Presidential love interest, her heart dropped; she was numb. But she didn't give in to crying. Maybe because she didn't give any real credence to it. She assumed, hoped, that Fitz would wait a long while (like never) before risking getting involved with another woman. His presidency had been taking hit after hit from members of both parties and in the court of public opinion over the divorce. The silent factor had remained Mellie, which actually concerned Olivia more than anything. She hadn't made a peep since the joint announcement. But, especially with the election approaching, things for him weren't all good.

Olivia had done a remarkable job of staying focused (or distracted) by work. She had to, now more than ever, because this situation with Ron Prosor would prove to bear more complexities than even Olivia knew to be prepared for.

Prosor's 19-year-old only daughter, Asha, had been caught up in the Israeli draft-dodging scandal when she – along with a few thousand other young Israeli women – refused to report for mandatory duty with the country's Armed Forces claiming religious exemption. Given Mr. Prosor's status as former Israeli Ambassador to the United Kingdom and former Chief of Israeli's foreign ministry, of course government officials, the media, and the general public in Israel and abroad knew Asha was lying. To make matters worse, the young woman also took part in an ill-conceived, albeit temporarily effective, plan to flee the country by participating in a supposed religious study abroad program in London where her father still had offices and where she had a number of family and friends willing to help her. This included a boyfriend Prosor hadn't known about initially, Roland Hemphill, the premier bad boy of Oxford University. If not for Roland's family's ties to the British monarchy he would've been expelled first term for unethical behavior with several co-eds as well as failing grades. Since Roland's mother – who had passed away from breast cancer a few years prior – was a third cousin to Prince Edward and his siblings, and had of course married into a very wealthy aristocratic family, he could garner the aid of some very influential people in the British government and monarchy if he needed to. He had been obsessed with the stunningly beautiful Asha since the previous Summer when she studied abroad at Oxford and he thought helping her would be the perfect opportunity to prove his dedication to her.

The Israeli government was demanding that the United Kingdom extradite Asha so that she could be questioned and possibly prosecuted. Given Prosor's sensitive political position, there was nothing he could do to try to stop it, so he enlisted Olivia's help. Olivia had met Prosor many years prior in D.C. when he was the guest speaker and professor at a semester-long series on foreign ministry in Olivia's World Government class. She was simply enthralled by his teachings on ethics and diplomacy and had an opportunity to write a thesis which he personally reviewed, critiqued, and oversaw the completion of. She ended up being awarded with the highest marks in her class – and in the history of the program – in the end. Much like the relationship Olivia forged with Cyrus when she was his pupil in law school, she developed a long-lasting mutual respect for and eventual friendship with Prosor, aiding him on many projects and speeches while she practiced law in New York and when he first began to actively participate in United Nations affairs.

Luckily, given the overall timetable Asha was working with and thanks to Prosor's reputation, her date with Israeli officials probably wasn't going to happen immediately. Despite being a veritable douche bag, her boyfriend Roland made good on is promise to help her. He did just that by convincing (probably bribing) his extremely well-connected father to get the British government to refuse Asha's extradition… for now. Everyone involved knew that this could change over night with the right word from the wrong person. The situation was precarious, at best, _particularly_ since Israel was the most favored allied nation in the Middle East region.

"Ron… How are you holding up?" Olivia asked with genuine concern. Because of problems with the connection, the video quality of their FaceTime session wasn't very good, but Skype was too unsecure to risk it. She had to have Huck work a near miracle to get a secure connection for their video conference as it was. And for extra privacy, she moved into her office behind closed doors, but since Huck recommended she utilize her laptop because it had the highest level of firewall security protections, it made the connection all the worse. Still, Olivia could easily see the worry in Ron's face. He was pale and his face appeared thinner, more tired, as if he hadn't been eating or sleeping much, and his shoulders were slightly slumped. He looked far different than the confident, blisteringly-funny, extremely poised and polished man she was used to.

"Olivia," Ron sighed and ran his hand over his face, "I'm trying…"

Olivia nodded her head. "I know… I know… Okay, so, listen…" Olivia perked up for the both of them. She had a plan and wanted to give him _some_ semblance of hope. "I have an idea…"

Ron sighed and gave a small, weak smile. "Oh, thank God" he replied in a more steady, thickly-accented voice as he looked up with his hands raised as if giving praises to the heavens. Olivia couldn't help but smile back.

"You'll go to London week after next… on business. I've arranged for you to give a series of speeches at Oxford and Cambridge on Middle East relations. I've already spoken to yours and Secretary General Ki-Moon's staff and we've begun to formulate a few packets for you to review. They should be arriving at your residence within the next few hours." Olivia was one to leave no detail undone. Ron knew he could trust her to handle things, so he just nodded and listened as she spoke with enough confidence to somewhat put his mind at ease.

"Also, a media blitz. You're going to attend several pseudo-social engagements which Parliament and the Royal Family have coming up within the next few weeks. And, who better to accompany you than your lovely daughter?"

A bit of shock naturally registered on Ron's face. "Have you talked to her? To Asha? Sh-she called us the other day to let us know she was alright, but she rushed me off the phone. And now, for the past couple of days, her phone's been going straight to voicemail." He shook his head and rubbed his hand over his face again. "Olivia… this is all too much. You know I'm not really known as a sensitive man, but… she's my baby." His voice cracked again, tugging at Olivia's heart. "I want her home and I want her safe. She could go to prison over this!"

"Ron…" Oliva raised her hand as if to try to tamper down his growing worry. She spoke softly empathizing with him and the state he was in. "I know… I know… We'll deal with _that._ One step at a time, though… okay?" She waited for him to give a sign of agreement, and when he nodded his head, she continued. "I spoke to Asha a couple of hours ago." His eyes widened with understandable surprise and his mouth snapped open. What Olivia wasn't going to tell Ron was that Huck had obtained Roland Hemphill's private cell phone number. She took it upon herself to give him a ring, and "convinced" him – in a tone only she had the balls to utilize – to make Asha call her… _immediately_.

"Ron, she's just a child for all intents and purposes, and right now she's terrified… nearly as afraid of you and Rebekah as she is of being extradited and going to prison, not to mention the probability of having to serve in the Armed Forces." Olivia couldn't help but chuckle on the inside, but she wasn't so insensitive as to do it noticeably for Ron to see. "I'll be talking to her a lot over the next few days, so even if you don't hear from her, try not to worry. I'll have some people on the ground in London within the next 24 to keep an eye on her… and Hemphill."

"I just need you to focus, prepare for the task at hand. You're going to go to London and make it appear as though you and your wife were well aware of what's been happening with Asha and that you're happily reuniting with your beautiful daughter for a few exciting State activities."

"Olivia?"

"Yes?"

"Will you be coming to London?"

Olivia sighed, but not so noticeably to alert Ron to her growing level of irritation at the situation. With her schedule and commitments, and with all hell breaking loose in the lives and times of her other clients, she hadn't _planned_ to travel for this assignment, especially not overseas. However, this situation had potential implications of immense international proportions and every element of her plan wasn't lock tight, despite her skill and experience at handling the unfixable. She knew certain things would need her personal touch, so she'd already arranged for a flight to London in two weeks just in time for the first of Ron's engagements at Oxford.

"Yes, I will be there in a couple of weeks, just after you arrive. I'll talk to you and to your assistant again in a few days about my itenerary and my accommodations in London. And…," sensing he was about to speak, "don't worry. As I said, I've communicated with Mr. Ki-Moon's office, and your colleagues are with you 100%. Ron, you've gained the utmost respect of some very, very important people over the decades and your reputation speaks for itself. People who matter are going to support you and help you through this because, frankly, it benefits _them_ to do so… trust me." With that, she smiled at her former mentor and friend.

All he could do was sigh again, but this time he was a bit more at ease. "Thank you, Olivia. I'm…" Olivia could see a feminine hand lightly smack him on the shoulder, and he reached over to grab it, chuckling from slight embarrassment. "_WE_ are so glad you're on this. We can't tell you how much we appreciate you."

Olivia couldn't help but laugh a little. "Of course. I'd do just about anything for you and Rebekah. You know that."

With that, Olivia ended the chat. She looked at her clock and immediately developed a determination to walk out of her damn office and this God-forsaken building to grab a sandwich down the street at her favorite café. She just needed some fresh air. Entirely too much was happening for a Tuesday afternoon. She was tired and hungry and absolutely hating the idea that she was going to have to be away from her responsibilities in D.C. for more than a week. She stood, feeling stiffness in the joints attaching her legs to her torso and she shook her head, sighing soundly. To herself she said, "You're getting old, girl." She shook her head again and took a long, drawn out, full-body stretch, pulling her arms straight back over her head and bending backwards at the waist. She let out a yawn and blinked her eyes adjusting them to the natural light filling her office that contrasted to the dull, unnatural light she had been exposed to from the computer monitor during her chat.

Just as she made it to her coat rack and put her hand on her white, wool overcoat, her office phone rang. She sighed in annoyance and quickly stepped over to the door opening it, sticking her head out.

"Huck?! Could you get that?!" She heard what sounded like him already on another phonecall. "Quinn?! Hellooo?!" Olivia sang out. She really needed to get a receptionist or something. She had been thinking about it, but hadn't gotten around to interviewing anyone – a task she would _only_ allow herself to be responsible for.

"Dammit!" Olivia huffed as she slammed her office door and quickly skipped over to her phone. She briefly looked at the caller i.d. and frowned thinking the number seemed familiar.

It was Peter who, upon hearing her voice, immediately teased her about answering her own phones. Olivia squealed with delight, recognizing his voice right away. She was only used to getting the occasional e-mail or voicemail message from Peter. They always seemed to miss each other's calls, but always, always dished electronic insults and inside jokes via whatever modes of communication they could. It was one of the things about life that Olivia never anticipated, but always cherished when she got some stupid-ass message from Peter. After Olivia threw a "ya mama" jab his way in response to his teasing, she asked about his sister, Katie, who was usually travelling the world on some dangerous assignment for her network news job.

"She's safe as of yesterday evening. Her assignment wraps up next week. Keep her in your prayers, Liv. All of us, actually. We're all basket cases over here."

"Oh my God. Of course, Peter. But, try not to worry too much. She's a tough little cookie." Olivia knew her friend well enough to know when he was on the verge of becoming a nervous wreck, and she could hear the obvious worry in his voice. A usually calm, deep voice, but it cracked slightly with concern for his sister.

Olivia wanted to reassure him. Peter Haslip was a permanent fixture on the very… very… short list of Olivia's friends. He was about the only person she regularly communicated with whom she didn't work with or whom she wasn't related to.

"Yes. Tough she is." Peter said trying to lighten the mood and sound more hopeful. "So… what are you doing for lunch next Tuesday?"

"Probably forgetting to eat due to managing some crisis…" Olivia quipped. "Why?"

"Farhieds on Connecticut? 12:30?… My treat."

"Wait…" Olivia's back straightened up in her chair. "Are you coming here?!... Yay!"

"_Yay_? Ahaha!"

"Yes. Shut up." Olivia chuckled at her own uncharacteristic exclamation, but she really was very excited about Peter coming to town. He couldn't see her, but surely he could tell she had an ear-to-ear grin planted on her face. Her heart quickened a little as well, a feeling that caught her off guard somewhat. While her and Peter ever only flirted in undergrad, and never seriously dated, she could say that… besides Fitz… she had never had a crush on anyone in her life (including when she was an adolescent) the likes of which she had on Peter. And, as she had learned one evening in her suite's study room while they were preparing for senior exams, the feeling was mutual. They shared a very intense kissing session that night, which included a bit of petting and touching, but the experience didn't go much further. Both of them were far from virgins, but probably a little too socially awkward still to effectively navigate from something that had been a four-year long friendly bond to something more, especially with school swiftly coming to an end. They talked about the possibility, but decided against it because they both had plans taking them to opposite sides of the Country for work and graduate studies.

Olivia didn't know where thoughts about that evening had come from all of a sudden, but the memory gave her a sweet, warm feeling. He was absolutely adorable and charming then – 6 ft. tall with a lean, muscular swimmer's body (a hobby they had in common), naturally tan skin with a sharp jawline and perfect teeth, and dark straight hair with almost black almond-shaped eyes thanks to his Korean mother. Besides a couple of alumni gatherings over the past few years, she hadn't actually seen much of Peter face to face. But each time they got together, he looked better, more filled-out and mature, and they flirted shamelessly, but innocently. They always had fun when they re-connected.

"What are you gonna be working on here? Big speech at school?"

Peter was an economics ace, first out of 80 students in his discipline of International Political Economy at Georgetown. During the first semester of their senior year, he had been hand-picked by the program's faculty to lead a delegation of the twelve top-ranking students studying abroad all over Europe. He was even tasked with assisting the host professors at Oxford, Georg-August-Universität in Germany, École Normale Supériure in Paris, France, and Utrecht University in Amsterdam with developing and administering the students' curriculum. To say he was a brilliant young economist would be an understatement. After completing his Masters and PhD in Economics at Stanford, he was a candidate for a Rhodes scholarship at Oxford, but his mother fell ill that fall with cancer. He took care of her pretty exclusively for months until she passed away. He then took a position as an agricultural and natural resource economist with a company in Berkley, CA, and then made a complete switch to become a senior analyst with the New York Stock Exchange. Peter never ran from a challenge like that, though. Most recently, he had been the youngest adjunct professor in the history of the University of Chicago's economics school.

"Actually, yes, I'm giving a speech on Friday. You should try to come. But…"

"But… what? Tell me!" Olivia really was acting out of sorts, and she knew he would tease her about it. Maybe she sort of hoped he would.

"Meeting with Arnold Hopper on Monday."

Olivia's smile dropped immediately and her heart all but stopped. Peter was met with noticeable, deafening silence on the other end of the phone.

"Liv?..."

"Uh-huh…" She basically held her breath, hoping, praying he wasn't going to say what she knew he was going to say.

"Are you alright?"

"Umm… Yes." She wasn't though, and Peter could tell, even through the phone.

"I'm going to be working with him for awhile at CEA. I'll be his Deputy."

The White House's Council of Economic Advisors, or CEA, was a part of the White House Office – the same bureaucratic structure Olivia technically worked under as the President's Communications Director. Arnold Hopper was the Chair of the CEA and therefore – as of the past two years – a part of President Fitzgerald Grant III's core team, attending weekly (if not more) briefings at the White House in the Oval Office conference room alongside Cyrus, White House counsel, and the National Security Advisor. That meant that if Hopper were for some reason unavailable or needed to address something under Peter's specific areas of expertise during a briefing, Olivia's good friend could be at the table with the big boys – so to speak – on any given occasion. This was crazy.

Liv bit down hard on her bottom lip, rolled her eyes, and shook her head in disbelief. She leaned back in her chair, until her head came to rest on the back of it and just closed her eyes shaking her head slowly from side to side as if saying _"No, no, no…"_

"Olivia?... Did you hear what I just said?"

She took a deep, but quiet, breath and her nostrils flared out as she released her now bruised lower lip from the cage of her teeth. She opened her eyes and leaned forward with her elbow on her desk and propped up her forehead with her hand. "Mmm-hmmm. I heard you."

If he knew her well enough, Peter could almost detect an instant note of something different in her voice. "Uhhh…" He didn't know exactly what had happened or what to say.

"No, no… that's great, Peter." Liv said unconvincingly.

"Olivia… Really? Come on… I can tell something's wrong."

Olivia really needed to snap out of it. There was absolutely no cause to alert Peter to anything being wrong, because nothing _was_ wrong. She wanted to kick herself for being so ridiculous.

"No, Peter… I'm so sorry. That's…that's amazing. Please, do tell." Olivia was determined to sound perky.

Peter sighed and she could tell he wasn't quite convinced yet, but he played along, a good sport as usual.

"So, I've accepted the job. Besides being hella nervous about our meeting next week, all I can seem to think about is whether my White House office will be large enough to contain my favorite leather smoking chair."

Olivia laughed in earnest. "Um, there's no smoking in the White House, and your office won't actually be there. It'll be around the corner in a building on Constitution." She said dryly, while trying to contain a chuckle at his expense.

Peter sighed in response. "Why can't I be great? Thank you for pouring an ice-cold dose of reality over my head. Anyway, I knew that already. I'm still bringing my chair, though."

"The fact that you even admit to having a smoking chair is hysterical." Olivia said.

They both broke into a fit of laughter for a few seconds.

"Seriously though, Peter, that's amazing. I'm so very happy for you. Question, though?"

"Yeah?"

"Why didn't you call me a long time ago? I could've arranged for you to meet Arnold Hopper's predecessor Cynthia Rawls when I still worked for the administration."

"Well working for the White House wasn't even on my radar. I mean, I knew about the work you were doing – everyone did – but I was swimming in academia. I mean… this is surreal, right?" He was asking rhetorically.

"Yes… it is." Liv shook her head again at the irony that her friend was going to essentially be working for Fitz.

"So… I'm gonna need you, Liv."

She felt a chill travel up her spine not knowing how to take his words.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means, you know these people, and I'm going to need your inside expertise. I'm not trying to ride on your coattails or have people think I landed this job somehow because of you, but I would love for you to come somewhere with me."

"Come with you? To what? Oh… hell no." Olivia got up from her chair beginning to pace. "No, Peter. I'm sorry. I'm very busy next week… going out of town soon on business. I can swing lunch for sure, but no meetings with White House advisors. I don't have the time."

"Calm down."

"I beg your pardon? It would be inappropriate for me to accompany you to a meeting, essentially to your final interview, with Hopper. You shouldn't be seen by them as being aligned with me anyway, Peter. Trust."

Peter frowned at that. He hadn't suspected that there was any sort of problem between Liv and anyone at the White House. However, they hadn't talked in great detail about the times she spent there. Still, he wasn't asking her to hold his hand to an official meeting. He was asking for something else.

"Olivia…"

"What?!..." she said, stubbornly.

"It's not a meeting. It's a dinner."

"Which dinner, Peter?" Olivia hadn't ever paid much attention to the more social, non-State functions put on by the White House such as the Kennedy Center Honors celebration and the National Endowment for the Arts festivities, but it was March now and she knew that the Correspondent's Dinner was probably coming up soon.

"The White House Correspondent's Dinner."

"No!"

"What?..." Peter asked not understanding the problem. "Why?"

"Mmm, because I can't."

"Olivia."

"Peter, I am flattered that you'd ask, but I can't."

"Sure you can."

"Okay… I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Peter…"

"Please. I'm new in town."

"No you're not! You lived here for four years."

"We were in school, and I left immediately afterwards!

Olivia scoffed.

"Look… I'm told I'm basically required to go. Hopper wouldn't let me out of it saying something about 'if _we_ have to suffer, so does the rest of the under staff'. I don't have a choice, so I want to enjoy myself and I _always _enjoy myself with you."

"Peter… It's too complicated to go into detail, but trust me. You don't _want_ me there with you. You'd be better off going alone. Besides, if you do, you might meet someone interesting. Hey… have you made plans yet to meet with Blythe Ellis from NEC? She's first assistant to the Director."

"No. I would've remembered scheduling a meeting with someone named Blythe, and now that you've put me on guard, I am immediately predisposed to be uninterested in any social interactions with someone by that name."

"You're wrong for that and I will _never_ tell her you said that, because she is the smartest person in the West Wing, since I left of course, _and_ she looks like Blake Lively."

"So she has a stupid name _and_ she's ugly? Yes. I'm _dying_ to meet her."

"Peter…"

"Olivia, I'm not interested. I only want to flirt with _you_."

Olivia blushed.

"Please, don't do me like this…"

Olivia sighed in defeat. "You know… begging is _really_ unattractive. Fine… but I'm not going to be your networking buddy. You work the room by yourself, and _no_ dancing. For me, this event will be extremely low profile."

"Deal. Thank you."

"This is gonna be a disaster," Olivia said under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

There was silence again. Peter didn't know what was going on, but he sensed he would need to try to get the full story from Olivia before the dinner.

"Olivia."

"What?" she snapped.

"You're going to need to explain some things to me when we have lunch on Tuesday."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"I don't understand you, but I can't wait to see your little ass."

"Peter!" Olivia was truly taken aback by his familiarity with her, but she sort of loved it. It was definitely more of the same with Peter. Playful re-visiting of old times. She thought him coming to town was just what she needed right about now.

When Olivia arrived at Farheid's that Tuesday, it took awhile for her to hone in on Peter who had arrived early and was sitting alone waiting for her. He looked sooo good. Different. Much more handsome than she remembered him from about seven years earlier when they met up at a Georgetown-related event in NYC. When he stood up from the table to greet her as she approached, he placed his right hand near his heart and kind of cocked his head to the side taking in the sight of her and smiling a wide grin. She hadn't remembered that his dimples were _that_ deep. He exhaled before gently taking her hand and kissing the back of it. Then he drew her into an impossibly tight, warm hug and closed his eyes as he breathed her amazing scent into his nostrils. Neither of them could stop smiling and laughing throughout lunch, just like a couple of bashful school kids. It was actually kind of ridiculous, but Olivia couldn't help it.

Despite the free flowing nature of the conversation, Olivia avoided getting into too much detail about why she left the White House, and especially avoided saying anything hardly at all about Fitz except what an amazing opportunity it was for her to work for his campaign and administration. Olivia hid her nervousness about accompanying Peter to the dinner. She wanted to be supportive of him and hang out with him for sure, but she was not eagerly anticipating seeing Fitz again… not at all. She was determined to make the best of the night and have fun watching Peter become acquainted with the upper echelons of Washington D.C. politics, the entertainment industry, and the media all at the same time. He was definitely in for a treat. Problem was, she didn't quite know what _she_ was in for.

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_**A/N: Mmmm-hmmm. That's right. Liv is IN FOR IT. A run-in and a surprise (unwelcomed?... maybe). SMH... LOL! Until next time... **_


	6. Chapter 6A

****_**A/N: This is a short PORTION of chapter 6. The next portion isn't written yet, but it's sort of outlined so it should come quickly. I just needed to post SOMETHING. Chapter 7 is nearly complete as well. This is short, but I hope you enjoy. Thanks, in advance, for your reviews.**_

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**Chapter 6-A**

"I ain't votin' for no damn Democratic candidate in the next election unless they're Black or look better than President Grant! And they damn sure ain't gettin my campaign contributions! If one more old, fat, ugly pasty-ass Democratic congressman or Governor tries to get me to do a campaign appearance on their behalf in Bed Stuy, Brooklyn, I'm gonna shoot up the New York Democratic headquarters!"

President Grant nearly choked on the water he had just taken a sip of at exactly the moment Chris Rock, the host of this year's White House Correspondent's Dinner, finished his statement. In the same manner as the entire crowd, he threw his head back in a loud, uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter and coughing as a result of the comedian's statement. His entire face and neck had also taken on a bright red hue from the attention, albeit anticipated. He knew he'd be the focus of a good deal of Chris Rock's jabs. The notoriously liberal comedian admitted to being a big fan of President Grant's stance on certain social issues and acknowledged his "swagger" when they spoke on the phone. He even accused President Grant of spending some time in Brooklyn during his adolescence, given the high level of his cool-factor. And, as the President revealed during their conversation, after Richard Pryor, Chris was his absolute favorite comedian. It was definitely the mutual admiration society.

"This dude is just too good lookin'! Makes me _sick_!" The comedian laughed as he looked over at the President. "Lookin' like a 21st century Jesus with a haircut and no beard! All tall and tan, wavy hair, pretty eyes… Just… UGH!" He turned and faced the President who was looking directly at him erupting with more laughter. "And, I hear the 'sistas' talkin!"

Impossibly, Fitz' face turned even more red and he gasped with a shocked smile frozen on his face, forgetting to breathe. Without a mind, he instinctively looked down to the part of the main floor where Liv's table was located.

"Yeeaaahhh…" Chris continued his barrage. "Oprah _loves_ ya! But, that ain't all! The other day I walked in on my wife on Skype with _my_ sister talking about how the President could get it… if I were _dead_! And _my_ sister responded that she understood since he's so damn fine! I mean… what the hell is _that_?!"

The people gathered couldn't contain their raucous laughter. Even Cyrus, who was standing off to the side of the stage, ever managing the speakers and guests much to the chagrin of the Social Secretary whose job that was, was almost bent over in hysterics with his hand covering his mouth and his face turning red as well.

In that moment, Olivia was looking down at her lap, laughing lightly and blushing hard, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin. Apparently, the comedian's joke had caught her off guard, and she nearly choked on her beverage. Her date was carefully stroking her bare upper back, laughing and asking her something close to her ear, most likely whether she were alright. Olivia quickly nodded her head and automatically glanced up at Fitz.

Fitz' smile faded considerably – into a dishonest smirk accompanied by dark, brooding eyes – at the innocent scene before him, and he felt the heat of jealousy bathe over him. To the unknowing observer, it would appear that President Grant was just physically responding to the welcomed verbal tagging the magnificently funny Chris Rock was delivering at his expense. But, the truth was he had been keenly aware of Liv's presence – nearby or far off in some corner – all night and everything about it, her presence, was playing on his emotions… his nerves.

* * *

Earlier in the evening, Olivia had had essentially the same impact on her date for the night when he came to pick her up.

"Hello…"

"Oh my… damn." Was all Peter could muster as he turned to watch Olivia come fully into her large, well-appointed living room. Actually, he barely spoke above a whisper, talking almost solely to himself and basically groping Olivia with his eyes, from head to toe. She nervously chuckled because she could tell that he was hopelessly distracted by the sight before him.

As he continued to trail her form with his dark eyes, Peter broke into a devastating smile and made eye contact with Liv. She thought he was absolutely remarkable looking, and wearing that damn tux almost as well as… The slightest tremor quickly went up her spine causing her to blush.

He'd arrived by limousine and Liv rang him up to her top floor, vintage 1940's era apartment in one of the most pristine turn of the century apartment buildings in Washington. Olivia had paid a pretty penny for the convenience, security, and beauty this building and it's location (in close proximity to her office and to the White House) offered. She'd left the door unlocked, knowing he'd be coming inside, but she still had a few last minute touches to tend to from her back room.

"I'll be out in a sec. Make yourself comfortable." She yelled from her bedroom.

Peter hadn't been to Liv's apartment since arriving in town the previous week, but he'd hoped he would get to see it tonight. To him, even though they were barely adults back when they were in school together, Olivia had impeccable style. She was always so put together and serious about her studies and her appearance when they were at Georgetown, and unbeknownst to her, other girls sort of tried to emulate her style. But, those girls were missing something. They didn't have Olivia's quiet, almost shy charm and her deadly accurate, confident book smarts to accompany a natural beauty and air that no other woman or girl could ever hope to copy. So, the way she had her apartment decorated didn't surprise him at all. He shook his head and chuckled to himself in acknowledgment.

Olivia didn't seem to know it, but Peter had a massive crush on her from the moment they met at Freshman orientation. The only time he felt confident enough to let it be known was four whole years later when they were studying for finals their senior year. He never would have admitted this to her or to anyone else who knew him, but if things had happened between them sooner, he would've probably taken a different course in life. He probably wouldn't have ended up thousands of miles away from her on another coast. Each time he saw Liv over the years, he wondered if they could've built something more. Now that he was in the same time and space as her, and doing important work that she might actually take notice of and share an interest in, maybe he had the slightest chance.

When Liv finally emerged from her room, and Peter laid eyes on her, he nearly forgot his name or what year it was. He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, instantly feeling heat encircle the seemingly too tight collar of his tuxedo shirt and bowtie. He felt that heat in other places too, but willed his body not to react too much because it would be highly inappropriate, not to mention impossible to explain if noticed or address the way he might want to.

Olivia approached Peter quietly eying him, wondering if he knew how good he looked with a slight blush affecting his features.

She almost glided towards him wearing a Stella McCartney black lace, form-fitting floor length gown with a very high neckline – so high that it covered her collar bone – long, and nearly palm-length lace sleeves. As she came closer, he noticed her eyes appeared deeper and smoky, almost black (he didn't know what it was, given that he didn't know about women's make-up tricks) and her lips looked impossibly fuller because they were a powerful, wet looking crimson.

His heart rate sped up considerably as he assessed her. She looked like a vixen. Not that she wasn't already beautiful. But, she looked almost dangerous. He'd never seen her hair so straight, and shiny. No one had. She'd never worn it that way before in her life, but her stylist Marco with the D.C. Metro Area Warren Tricomi salon convinced her to be daring tonight. Olivia felt like Marco had an extra twinkle in his very perceptive eye since she let it slip that she was going on a "date" with an attractive friend and would also be in the presence of fine-ass President Grant (as Marco openly described him). Her hair was parted down the middle and hung in a long blunt cut, a few inches past her shoulders, and masterfully fell just slightly around the sides of her face, framing it's heart-shape and brushing the apples of her cheeks, or lovely chin, depending on how she moved… it swayed and swung from here to there in tandem with her.

Her black 6-inch high 3.1 Philip Lim strappy stiletto sandals could only be seen ever so often when Olivia took a step forward, also revealing a perfectly done pedicure in the exact same red of her lips and her perfectly manicured fingernails. Her only jewelry were her two carat platinum and diamond round cut studs in their classical Tiffany setting. Olivia didn't want jewelry to interfere with her look.

She smiled up at Peter as she passed close to him to retrieve her black suede box-shaped clutch from the console table near the door, and as she did so, Peter's heart constricted again and his breath hitched somewhere between inhaling her perfume and exhaling at what he saw next.

For as unusually conservative as the front of Olivia's gown appeared even with its body-hugging design, the back of her gown was basically non-existent. Peter really thought he was going to pass out when he saw that Olivia's entire silky, cocoa-hued back was totally bare from her nape all the way down to the dimpled area not a fraction of an inch above the actual parting of her actual derriere in all it's glory. The skirt of the gown hugged her apple and began to flare out just underneath it in the back so that she could move easily.

Peter was in a daze as he imagined his hand reaching forward and laying flat against the supple skin of her incredibly toned back. He thought he may have actually reached out for her, but pulled back just before she turned to ask him if he was ready. The best way he could describe how he was feeling was in a bit of a daze.

"Uh… you look..." Peter just shook his head and finally exhaled. "You look incredible, Liv. Dang…" That last part he said just under his breath.

"Good…" Liv laughed heartily in reply. "That's the response I wanted." She said with a naughtly twinkle in her eye as she walked casually over to Peter and linked an arm with his. "Ready?"

He just paused for a moment, looking her over again and then finally mustering up the strength to tear his eyes away from how her body was working that dress and make eye contact. "Yeah… just let me catch my breath a little." He cleared his throat, grinning, and adjusted his bowtie, exhaling again quickly. "I'm ready."

Olivia just laughed again, glad that she'd chosen to be a bit more daring with her selections tonight. Since she was agreeing to go to this thing, she didn't see why she couldn't try to have maybe a little fun after all. Yes. She sensed this was going to be a night for the history books.

* * *

After Chris Rock's good-natured, although pointed tyrade, when Liv inadvertently made eye-contact with Fitz, she wore an unidentifiable smile on her face with the man at her side still in her ear and sitting close enough for her to feel his body heat.

The smile Fitz once had all but faded by now. He'd have to talk to Camille Stein, his Social Secretary, about by what devices Liv had gotten an invitation to the dinner. Not that she was under some imposed restriction from White House happenings, especially more social ones, but he really didn't need this shit tonight. Naturally, there were press everywhere as well as a whole amass of other people just itching to get a piece of the President of the United States in his new status as officially separated, very nearly divorced from the First Lady. Although tonight was probably touted as the most foot loose and fancy free night on the White House's calendar all year, he still had to put on the air of maintaining his official, political composure. He couldn't forget his surroundings, escape to some dark corner of the grounds, hold Livvie flush and hard against his body while accosting her with his eyes and strategically placed hands on the dance floor. Those days were long gone for several good reasons.

It had been a long, long seven months since Fitz had confronted Mellie with the inevitable. In that time, the press had been relentless in "investigating" whether or not the surprising announcement had anything to do with another woman, or – on for Mellie's part – another man. That showed little signs of letting up anytime soon. Fitz was trying to have universal health care legislation passed without angering his conservative base and he had a second election to look forward to, soon. He also had a slew of diplomatic matters coming up to tend to personally over seas, and he didn't have the time or energy for any rumors about his love life that would get in the way of his political agenda. Also, his kids weren't exactly thrilled with his decision (and Mellie made sure they were acutely aware that it was, in fact, _his_ decision) so they were talking to him less and less. The media and the public had raked him over the coals 24 hours a day for the first five or so months because of what they felt the impact his selfishness – as they labeled it – was certainly having on his children. When they caught wind of the fact that the family was moving back to California without him, indefinitely, they tore him apart in the court of public opinion. Even constituents in his own party, as well as those farthest right, had started rumbling about whether or not he could or should be impeached over the decisions he was making in his personal life. In response, he made the conscious decision to squeeze so many additional activities into his already cramped calendar so that the world would have so many other things to talk about besides his personal dealings. This Correspondent's Dinner was the one activity he'd hoped he could just sort of sit back and enjoy. Unwind a little. Dance and drink a little more. Laugh a bit. Kind of be himself and "hide" in plain sight. But catching sight of Olivia looking that way in that damn dress, from her hair, to her smoky eyes, and her red lips had put him on edge. He'd never seen her like that before and it had gotten to him. He couldn't wait for the night to end.

* * *

_**A/N: Again, sorry to cut it off there, but holding onto it was driving me a little crazy. Soooo... I don't know about you, but I LOOOOOVE Olivia's naughty-girl look at this dinner. She's trying to be bad... on purpose. Let's see how far she takes this during the course of the evening, and what impact (if any) it ends up having on Fitz, or anyone else for that matter. LMAO! Until next time... **_


	7. Chapter 6B

**Chapter 6-B**

Somehow, Olivia and Peter had apparently missed the President's receiving line by mere seconds.

This had everything to do with Olivia accidentally leaving her cell phone at her apartment and insisting they turn the limo around, _just_ as it approached the White House's vehicle check-point. Although Peter didn't protest, Olivia could sense his disappointment that his first experience at a White House dinner wouldn't include the ceremonious greeting by and shaking of hands with the President of the United States, his new boss. She'd convinced him that having her phone was a matter of life or death. What if she'd gotten a call from or about a client and needed to respond to a matter effecting national security? Olivia gave Peter a sheepish look as if to say "sorry" and hurried out of the limo to run back upstairs to her apartment. At least Peter could enjoy the view further from where sat inside of the waiting car.

As she stepped inside of the lobby doors, she sighed deeply and closed her eyes, trying not to laugh. As she passed Tyrone, the night guard, he gave her a knowing smirk and shook his head. He had been the guard in her building for years and years, since long before she took residence. And he had seen and interacted with Olivia enough to know when she was up to no good. Also, he already knew she was a _very_ special lady – always remembering he and his family at Christmas and birthdays – but, when he stayed on the lookout for stray residents and guests as the Secret Service smuggled the President of the United States into the building in the wee hours of the morning about a year prior, that fact was solidified for him.

Peter probably misunderstood that Olivia accompanying him tonight would be 100% on her terms. If she could – and she certainly intended to – she would control every aspect of the night. She had to if she was going to make it through without losing it at the sight of Fitz or the sound of his voice. She had to be strategic, starting with this… missing him at the receiving line. He didn't know she would be there, Olivia was certain, and she didn't want there to be an opportunity for potentially the both of them to be uncomfortable by having to greet each other merrily in front of press and a ton of unknowing other staff and guests on the red carpet. It would be better off for the both of them that the President remain in the dark for now.

Olivia winked at Tyrone as she casually, almost slowly, strolled to the elevator and took it up to her floor. She entered her apartment, retrieved her cell phone from her console just where she'd left it, took pause for another second, and then walked back out, certain she'd bought herself enough time.

* * *

Peter and Olivia made a striking couple, no doubt. As they made their way into the main dining room, set up with about 50 tables – a major departure from the 250 or so tables each with 10 seats from years past – they were the talk of the room.

This year, the President insisted on cutting the number of attendees to half because the expense to the government of hosting the affair had, for several decades, consistently risen above the amount of donations to the foundation provided by the guests. He knew that if he had Camille Stein change the venue from the grand Hinckley Hilton back to the White House itself, and invite only the most influential people in broadcasting – scripted t.v. as well as media, movies, and international government, the organization's charity would still reap immense benefits for its scholarship recipients without the overhead of having a ridiculously inflated, over-crowded, and difficult to manage (given the propensity of some to inevitably try and every now and then successfully "crash" the party) affair.

Peter's new immediate boss, Arnold Hopper, had scored him two tickets at one of only three central staff tables available at this year's dinner. Although Peter had insisted on purchasing his and Olivia's seats – a mere $4,000 a pop – Hopper would hear nothing of it. He wanted his new protégé and date to be his guests for the evening and to enjoy themselves. Also, it had been months since he had the chance to chat with Olivia, and Hopper saw that as quite an added bonus.

But, Olivia and Peter hadn't really had the chance to sit much and enjoy any actual food aside from a few hors d'oeuvres since they'd arrived. And, of course, there were the free flowing drinks.

As was customary at the Correspondent's Dinner, most people mingled and quietly (or not so quietly, as was the case with a slightly inebriated George Clooney the previous year) move from table to table, rubbing elbows across broadcasting genre lines. One year, when Angelina Jolie had left the table briefly to powder her nose, Joan Rivers slipped into Jolie's seat next to Brad Pitt seeing it as her opportunity to flirt shamelessly (and loudly) with him. This was going on while the then-President, Democratic darling Mitch Harris, was trying to be funny up at the microphone. Naturally, given the unscripted ruckus Rivers was causing, the President turned his attention from his scripted jokes to her and one of the best verbal jousting matches in Correspondent's Dinner history occurred, much to the delight of the media and other guests present.

Olivia had grabbed Peter by the hand at some point after quickly sipping down a couple of full glasses of champagne, and pulled him over to the table hosting Vogue Magazine's editor-at-large Anna Wintour, tennis great Serena Williams, the rapper Common, music mogul Clive Davis and a few other notables.

Olivia, smiling brightly, bent down and greeted Anna, giving her the double kiss, one on each of her cheeks. Peter watched and listened in wonderment as both Anna and Serena, never shy with forward comments, fawned over Olivia, and commented at how beautiful (and naughty) she looked. They praised her for her daring, attention-grabbing backless dress.

Not to be ignored, the gentlemen at the table whom Olivia was familiar with, stood one by one, and greeted her with hard to contain excitement. It seemed every man she came into close contact with, inadvertently found his hand resting somewhere on her lower back. As Peter looked on, his face began to feel a bit flushed, and again his collar seemed a little tighter. And, he wasn't very entertained. When she had an opportunity, Olivia looked up into Peter's eyes and grinned widely, maintaining eye contact with him the whole time as she introduced him to everyone. It seemed they had all worked alongside Olivia on some charity or had sought her professional counsel on some serious matter. Peter couldn't help but melt a little at Olivia's coyness and smile down at her. By now, Olivia had her arm snaked snugly around Peter's waist, and was squeezing into him intermittently as she bragged to people she'd introduced him to about how fantastic he was, how far they went back, and how he was the newest staff person at the White House. Peter kept his arm around Liv's shoulders, squeezing her shoulder every time she said something else about his credentials to these people. She was definitely putting on a show the likes of which Peter hadn't expected or seen before from Liv. Usually, she didn't seem to enjoy being the center of attention – which she most certainly was tonight – but more reveled in being behind-the-scenes. No matter how quietly she might maneuver through life though, people always noticed her calm brilliance and effortless beauty. He didn't really understand exactly what was going on with her tonight, but he made a mental note to discuss it with her on another day.

This seemed to go on for a good while, altogether, during the course of the evening. From time to time, the couple would pause and look up at the stage if the person speaking were saying something interesting. That's how they ended up in their seats when Chris Rock began going in on President Grant. They wanted to really pay attention and enjoy his comedy.

* * *

Fitz hadn't really missed a second of the display Olivia and her friend were putting on. He was multitasking throughout the evening, keeping a very keen eye on the couple, following them as they glided together from table to table schmoozing with celebrities and whatnot, looking every bit like a couple enjoying a romantic date… he felt at his expense. At the same time, Fitz would glance over at whomever was on the microphone and nod and laugh a little to make it seem as if he were actually interested in what they were saying. He _should_ have been enjoying himself more, but he couldn't really focus.

Besides that, he had invited a special guest too, and although he had several excuses for not giving her his undivided attention – like being seated on stage whereas she was at a table off to the side and also not wanting to drum up any speculation amongst the guests, especially the media – he felt a little bit like he should be focused more on her than on the fact that Olivia had essentially crashed the party acting – and looking – like the guest of honor. He couldn't help himself. He could feel himself becoming more and more tense with each passing moment that he watched her, yet he had the presence of mind to hope that Cecily hadn't noticed.

* * *

Cecily Grosvenor wasn't one to be easily ignored either. She found herself the focus of a charming group of gentlemen sitting with her at the President's special guest table. Although she was entertained by the attention, there was only one man's attention she wanted. She glanced up at Fitz from time to time and thought she could tell that he was slightly uncomfortable, although he was putting on a good face. Eventually she just cocked her head to the side with a knowing smile – although he hadn't seemed to notice – and decided she'd mention it when she had a private moment with him.

* * *

Olivia hadn't had this much fun working a room in years, and finally Peter had gotten over his shock at Olivia's antics and loosened up a bit (with the help of a glass of Hennessy on the rocks, at her encouragement). She and Peter giggled and flirted like school children, and his hand or the tips of his fingers hardly left the curve of her lower back all night.

Before and after she and Peter took time out of their rounds to give Chris Rock their attention, a couple of times she happened to catch sight of Fitz up at his place on stage. Once, he had been looking on – as had everyone else – while news anchor Diane Sawyer introduced a few of the college students receiving scholarships. He began to take a slow sip of water when his eyes shifted over to Olivia, who was standing talking with a group of affiliates from CNN, when Fitz' gaze locked with hers. She thought she saw him smirk and shake his head a little from behind his glass, and instantly she shifted from one foot to another as prickly heat snaked up her spine, and as she quickly looked away.

After most of the speakers had concluded, including the President himself – who took the opportunity at the podium to thank Chris Rock for embarrassing him and for thanking 'tha sistas' for liking him and making him seem so much cooler than he really was – the youngsters who'd received scholarships had gone home, and the rest of the partygoers who still had life left in them were continuing to mingle, at and around the dinner tables. There wasn't an official dance floor, but that didn't stop people from sort of dancing-standing-swaying freely in the spaces surrounding the tables, around the perimeter of the dining room, and up on the terrace level that overlooked the massive White House dining room.

For the most part, though, the dining room was beginning to empty out. There were still several after parties, like the one hosted every year by Bloomberg/Vanity Fair at the home of the French Ambassador – that is, if one was lucky enough to get an invite. Of course, Olivia was on the list, but she had no plans of continuing the evening at any after parties. Besides the President and a good number of his staff, the waiters and waitresses were actually beginning to clear off table tops and other helpers were starting to transform the room back into the grand ballroom, usually devoid of the dinner tables currently in place.

Olivia and Peter had been engaged in a discussion with Arnold Hopper and a few other people from the President's core economic advisory group, and Peter seemed to really be enjoying himself. He had turned to Liv a few times during the evening to mouth the words "thank you" to her again for accompanying him. She was happy that he was happy, truly. Peter seemed to be growing more and more self-assured where Liv was concerned, and she couldn't help but to enjoy his attentions, although the specter of Fitzgerald Grant III was still ever-present in her mind. She could sense when he was nearby, even if she couldn't actually see him, and it seemed that feeling was creeping up on her now.

Just then, she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He was standing a few yards away, seemingly not paying her any mind. He was engaged in what appeared to be a lighthearted discussion with Cyrus and his husband James, and some woman Olivia didn't recognize.

Given her expertise at quickly sizing up a situation, Olivia could see that the woman was very familiar with the President, very friendly. She caught a few smiles shared between the two as well as a couple of moments when the woman leaned into Fitz' ear to say something that made him laugh a little. He'd do the same in return. Olivia felt heat flash across the back of her neck at the scene in front of her, but she continued to talk towards Peter and Hopper, seeming to be completely engaged in their topic of discussion.

The woman with Fitz and Cyrus was a beauty, no doubt. She appeared to be nearly as tall as Fitz, less a few inches, thanks to the satin burnt sienna peep-toe stilettoes she wore. The color was almost a perfect match to the satin spaghetti-sleeved floor-length wrap dress she wore. It was so perfectly simple, and looked almost as if a burnt caramel opaque glaze had been poured over her obviously perfect body. From her quick assessment, Olivia guessed the woman had spent many years dancing – she had a dancer's body. Her shoulders and arms were slim and toned and the dress left somewhat little to the imagination since the neckline dipped down low enough to expose the beginnings of her humble cleavage, and the wrapped style of the dress caused a natural high slit that showed off the olive-colored skin of her leg, right up to a dangerously high point of her thigh. She had startling hazel eyes, Olivia could see from where she was, accented by dark, full eyelashes, and long, reddish-bronze hair that flitted to beyond the middle of her back, somewhere just above her tiny waist. She was quite a beauty and surely the woman the media had begun to buzz about over the past few weeks.

Olivia noticed that the woman appeared to say her goodbyes to the men, finally giving Fitz a somewhat lingering hug and then walking off. She quickly looked back at him over her shoulder and he smiled warmly as she disappeared from the room.

Olivia quickly appeared to turn her attentions back to the conversation at hand now just between Peter and Hopper who was giving him a mini-briefing of what to expect come the start of his work week at the White House on Tuesday.

"Olivia, you know what I'm talking about." Hopper said. "Had I known you two knew each other, I would've contacted you before to get your point of view on how Haslip would do working with me. But, I suppose the fact that you two have remained friends for so long is enough to vouch for his character."

Olivia smiled, taking up for her friend while charming Hopper. "Oh, Arnold… you give me too much credit." She laughed. "There is that little thing that is Peter's stellar experience and amazing references from some of the most important economists in the world. He didn't need me to run any interference to impress you."

"Well, thank you, Liv." Peter said to her. More quietly he said closer to her ear, "you know how to make a man feel special."

Olivia blushed. Just then, Hopper caught sight of the President and Cyrus who were coming in their direction. Cyrus had already sent James home ahead of him. Olivia caught Fitz' gaze again. He looked a bit like a lion eying his prey.

"Haslip, Olivia told me you all missed the receiving line earlier in the evening. I want to introduce you to the President now." Hopper said to him.

"Absolutely." Peter said, with anticipation lacing his voice. He felt this was the most important meeting of his life.

Olivia sighed, nervously and thought quickly about making an escape. "Well, while you do that, I'll go freshen up." Olivia stated.

Peter quickly objected. "Don't be silly, Liv. We're leaving in a few minutes, right? You can go to the restroom then. C'mon."

"No, Peter. I'll go do that and then meet you outside."

"Olivia…" Peter started, but it was futile anyway, because Fitz appeared right in front of them.

Hopper turned and shook hands with both Fitz and Cyrus and said a few words to them about the night's festivities and being ready to head home himself.

"Also, Sir, I'd like to introduce someone to you." Hopper said.

Fitz turned knowingly to Peter and glanced briefly at Liv, causing her heart to beat a little faster. He had that thin, fake smile halfway spread across his face, and is eyes were dancing over her figure in that dress. He turned his attention back to Peter.

"Sir. This is Peter Haslip. He's beginning an assignment with my office this week."

"Hello, Mr. President. It's a pleasure to meet you." Peter extended his hand to Fitz.

"Ah. Mr. Haslip." Fitz took Peter's offered hand into an overly firm handshake. There was more strength in that handshake than Peter had anticipated, and as he looked the President in the eye, he thought he saw something decidedly dark flash through his grey corneas.

"Both Arnold and Filippa Angles have had a lot of good things to say about you. Welcome aboard. And, get ready for some fun. I have some specific items for you to take on at our briefing on Tuesday. As I'm sure Arnold has already warned you… come extremely well prepared."

"Yes sir. Of course." Peter said without hesitation and every bit of confidence he could muster.

Fitz casually turned his full attention to Olivia. "Olivia… This is a surprise." He didn't try to make physical contact with her. He simply nodded in her direction. Cyrus stood rather stoic, closely watching the scene unfold in front of him, knowing he didn't have to worry that either of them would act out of pocket.

"Good evening, Mr. President." She said in a low tone. She didn't know why her voice suddenly sounded as if she had just had a cigarette and had been drinking dark liquor into the wee hours of the morning. That didn't go unnoticed by Fitz, and it caused something to stir beginning deep inside his stomach and make it's way to his skin's surface. His heart rate sped up, but he held onto his wits and didn't allow it to register on his face.

"You two obviously know each other well. Why haven't you mentioned Mr. Haslip here before? Perhaps we could've used his expertise early on when we were just digging into the fiscal crisis in Europe." Fitz stated politely. This trying to make small-talk with the estranged would-be love of his life was just very weird. And then, her scent and the way she looked were the ultimate distraction. He was surprised he could even formulate a coherent sentence.

"Well, Peter was doing work close to his heart and close to home at the time. But it's all seemed to work out for him in the end. And I'm sure he will do some impressive things with your administration, Mr. President." She said, smiling up at Fitz.

"Ah… Thank you, Liv." Peter said as he looked down at her admiringly, and inadvertently grasped her hand beginning to rub circles on the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. "Sir, I promise I didn't bring Olivia here to soften you up."

Fitz just smirked without answering, Peter not knowing the pointedness of his words, but Fitz' eyes weren't truly happy.

"She agreed to keep me company since I'm so new to town," Peter continued. "Even though, years ago I did live here, while we were in school. Of course this is an entirely different situation."

Fitz just continued to politely look at Peter (more like size him up) and nod his head.

Olivia interjected, recognizing Fitz' growing mood and beginning to feel a bit of the tension radiating off of him. "Peter and I attended Georgetown together. We're old friends."

"I gathered." Fitz said dryly, looking briefly from Peter to Olivia and back again.

Peter looked down on Liv, oblivious, still smiling and wrapped his arm around her waist.

Olivia stiffened, hopefully not noticeably, and smiled at Peter. Then she looked up at Fitz who was back to looking at her again with that somewhat unsettling smile painted on his face.

"Well… I think we should get out of here." Olivia pretended to look around them considering that the room was basically empty, save workers continuing to straighten things up. "I'm going to go to the ladies room." She carefully removed his hand from around her waste and patted his arm "I'm going to go freshen up, and then I'll meet you downstairs?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Peter said, happy at how the evening had panned out. Olivia turned and nodded in Fitz' direction, then quickly walked in the direction of the ladies room on the balcony level adjacent to the ballroom. As she exited, Fitz couldn't help but get a parting glance at the bareness of her back and the roundness of her ass under the delicate fabric of that dress.

"Mr. President, Mr. Beene," Peter said as he shook both of their hands, taking Fitz out of his reverie. "It was an honor to finally meet you both. I look forward to doing wonderful work for you, Mr. President, Sir. I am very excited." Peter smiled genuinely.

"Indeed." Was all Fitz mustered. Cyrus shook Peter's hand and said his goodbyes to both him and Hopper. Then, Cyrus took his leave after saying a few more words to the President.

Peter and Hopper walked after Cyrus towards the direction of the driveway where guest's automobiles could be retrieved. Fitz retreated in the direction of his Secret Service detail who were standing off to one corner of the perimeter of the ballroom near the elevator.

* * *

Olivia walked along the balcony or terrace level overlooking the still shimmering dance floor which was still holding a few remaining dining tables.

In haste and nervousness, after staring at herself in the mirror to try to gain her composure and to remind herself that she had a wonderful man waiting to escort her home, she had walked out of the ladies' room forgetting her clutch. As she walked out, she caught just a glimpse of the back of Fitz disappearing into the hallway where the elevator was located and she inadvertently clasped her hands together. That's when she realized she had forgotten it. She quickly turned and walked back into the ladies room to retrieve it.

When she came back out onto the balcony area, she was distracted by the feeling of serenity filling the massive space, and as she walked, intending to descend the stairs and make her way outside to where Peter was waiting, she took note of the beautiful D.C. skyline through the windows surrounding the area.

She didn't notice, until she nearly walked into him, that Fitz had come up to the balcony and was now standing just before her. She was startled by his seemingly sudden appearance right in front of her.

"Fitz!" she whispered harshly, as she grasped her chest over her heart. "You startled me…"

He didn't say anything; he just stared, hands shoved in his pockets, bowtie hanging untied haphazardly around his neck. He wasn't smiling any longer. His eyes were dark and intense, and Olivia was more taken aback by the look of anger on his face than anything.

He languished over her body with his eyes, slowly surveying her from head to toe, his sight landing on her lips which were still stained red, but not as full of fresh color as they were before. He instantly imagined that maybe she had been kissing her friend Peter, and that's why her lips looked like that. He could feel the sting of jealousy and anger begin to rise in his throat.

"I didn't mean to startle you." He plainly said in a low, dangerous tone.

Olivia rolled her eyes. She could sense the drama about to begin. She wanted no parts of it. "Well… Goodnight, Sir." She tried to quickly walk past him, but Fitz was having none of that.

He harshly grabbed her upper arm as she tried to get by him, and spun her back around so that she was facing him.

Olivia looked down at where he was making contact with her arm and back up again into his eyes. They appeared to be churning and smoldering with dark grey smoke or clouds. She couldn't remember when his eyes looked so dark and diabolical.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she said, trying not to yell so as to alert his security detail or any helpers who were still around.

Fitz let go of her arm and began walking closer and closer to her, leaving her no choice but to take backward steps essentially mirroring his. She was stopped by the huge marble pillar behind her and it was impossible for her to advance any further. She tried to step to the side, squeezing out from in between her prison of the pillar at her back and Fitz in front of her, but she only succeeded in causing him to instinctively place his hand on the pillar just level with her shoulder, expressing without words his intention to keep her there. He bore down into her soul with the intensity of his stare locked on hers.

Olivia's hand dropped and she accidently let go of her clutch which skidded out of her reach. Now, she'd have to go to great lengths to reach it if she were able to leave.

Olivia continued to make eye-contact with Fitz, determined to show him that he couldn't intimidate her.

"What do you want, Fitz?"

Fitz didn't answer. With his free hand, he reached behind Liv and began to trace his fingertips from the top of the back of her neck, down along the soft flesh just under the trim of her dress. It was as if he were using his fingers to see where her dress ended and her skin began.

Olivia gasped and held her mouth agape as her breathing sped up. "Don't, Fitz…" she protested. "I need to go."

He ignored her, and began to dip his first three fingers into the lowest point of trim laid against her lower back just above her buttocks.

Olivia instinctively reached behind her and slapped his hand hard, trying to keep him from going further. "Don't!" she said harshly.

"Stoppit!" Fitz hissed as he without warning pinched her left nipple hard through the fabric of her dress causing shock to flash across her face and causing her to nearly shriek in a palpable mixture of pain and pleasure. "Calm down." He said.

Olivia looked up at Fitz incredulously. Did he think it was appropriate for him to act this way, _especially_ with White House waiters and janitors intermittently coming and going from the ballroom space below and with his security detail somewhere nearby but just out of sight?

Olivia wasn't in the mood for his antics tonight. She made another move to get away from him when he shifted feeling her movement, and suddenly kicked her feet open like a police officer preparing to conduct a frontal strip-search. He then pressed his lower body into hers completely pinning her up against the pillar.

"Fitz!" Olivia almost screamed in desperation and a little bit of fear now. She could feel the hardness of the erection pressing up against her belly through her dress and his pants and she could feel the heat of his sweet smelling breath on her ear as he essentially threatened her.

In a low voice, he just warned, "Don't make me angry Olivia. You wanna leave? You wanna get back to your _date _before he comes looking for you?" He bit out that last part. "Then stay still."

She could tell that Fitz was deadly serious, but something a little unsettling had taken hold of him and Olivia was truly feeling some apprehension and anxiety. Her heart was racing and she was starting to feel a bit lightheaded after all these months of no contact; now he was pulling _this_.

"Wha-… What do you want?" Olivia managed, breathlessly.

Fitz bent down towards her lips and then all but nuzzled her neck as he deeply inhaled her scent. Then – with his face only a fraction of an inch in closeness to hers – he looked over her hair, it's shiny straightness and her beautiful face, staring into her eyes again. He was beginning to feel drunk from being so close to her. He had imbibed a good amount of Scotch, but he could hold his own. That wasn't what he was feeling the effects of.

"I want to know…" he began as he continued to press into her impossibly, "what the hell you think you're doing here… huh?"

He wasn't really asking her for a response, but she seemed confused nonetheless. She just shook her head, partly in disbelief.

"Don't play innocent with me, Liv," he said sounding upset. He let up, no longer pinning her lower half with his pelvis, and bent down for a split second. That's when Liv could feel him beginning to lift up the long hem of her dress. "You have the nerve to come here wearing this dress? Looking like _this_, Liv? Are you serious?" His voice was almost pleading, but still a low and deadly growl.

Olivia was beginning to become more and more unhinged. She couldn't believe what Fitz was doing.

"Huh?!" Fitz spat in an angry whisper. He didn't care about drawing attention to them, though. Maybe he wanted Liv to feel a little humiliation. "Answer me! Who are you wearing this dress for?!" He continued to slowly drag up the hem of her dress as his lips grazed the side of her mouth. Now his fingers were skimming the supple skin of her calf, then along the side of her knee, and in no time he was touching her thigh.

Olivia was looking into his eyes, and she was beginning to tremble a little from the shock of what he appeared to be doing.

"Fitz…"

"Shut up!" he whispered harshly. Just at that moment, having reached his mark, he cupped the naked flesh of her sex and his widening eyes locked with hers.

"You're not wearing any panties." Fitz stated at the realization. Olivia began to tremble, and she was paralyzed. Everything in her told her she should be scratching his eyes out, fighting to try to get free of his hold, but she did nothing.

"Is this for _him_?" Fitz said sounding enraged. "Are you going to take him home and fuck him?!" He continued, nearly crazed with lust and jealousy.

Fitz had begun dragging his fingers between the folds of her vagina, finding her slick and hot. He couldn't believe after all this time he was touching her like this.

"God, you are so wet." He said breathlessly as he inched closer and closer to her face, his mouth nearly touching hers. Both of their eyes were hooded now as Olivia's knees began to tremble. If it wasn't for Fitz being so close and having his hand strategically placed, she might have fallen.

Fitz began to strum her folds, from time to time pressing and flicking her clit. Olivia's breathing was labored, as she gasped in rhythm with his strumming. She just stared at Fitz' wet, open mouth through her low eyelids and dark eyelashes. She felt herself begin to respond to his attentions as her hips started moving, ever so slightly, so that the pressure on her clit would continue.

Olivia thought she would stop breathing when Fitz slid his fingers deep inside of her.

"Mmmm… sooo tight." He growled. Olivia was panting now, her heart speeding up as he worked her over, standing right there virtually in the middle of the balcony for anyone to see.

Olivia hadn't been with anyone in over a year; not since the last time she and Fitz had made love. She couldn't wrap her mind around what he was doing to her right now.

He continued his onslaught. "You see what you do to me?" He said as he pressed his rock-hard erection into the groove where her leg connected to the rest of her body. All Olivia could do was nod her head; she shouldn't have responded at all, but her mind was scrambled by the sensations her body was feeling. Her nails were all but digging into the pillar keeping her steady from behind.

"And I see what I do to you too" Fitz said as he pulled his fingers out, soliciting a whimper from her, just before shoving them back in. He continued to tease her. "That boy you were with… he can't do to you what I do." Fitz said, almost mocking her, she thought.

Then, just as unexpectedly as the onslaught began, Fitz withdrew his fingers from her depths and let the hem of her dress fall back down to the floor. By this time, Olivia had closed her eyes completely. However, at feeling the void he left, her eyes snapped open and she looked up at Fitz who was staring at her as if waiting for something. The look on his face, in his eyes, was impossible to discern.

Fitz brought his sated fingers up to his nose and breathed in Olivia's essence. If it hadn't been so shocking, Olivia would've probably found it humorous. But then, Fitz removed the silk handkerchief from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and slowly and meticulously wiped every drop from his fingers. He looked at his work, satisfied. He then ran the silk piece of fabric slowly under his nose, across his upper lip and inhaled deeply closing his eyes for a brief second as if reveling in her sweet, musky aroma. All Olivia could do was watch in amazement, wondering what he would do next.

But, he did nothing. His eyes opened, and he gazed down into hers. Something had changed. No longer was there anger in his eyes; it had been replaced instead by hurt, sadness even. He looked almost apologetic as he folded the silk material stained by her and carefully placed it in his left pants pocket.

Fitz blew out a deep breath, still looking at Olivia, then he closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to tousle every which way.

Olivia just looked up at him, the back of her head now resting against the pillar, utterly confused.

Fitz looked at her again and stepped back, once, twice. Saying nothing, at all, he dropped his gaze to his feet and slowly walked off.

Olivia looked after him in complete shock, and watched him descend the steps until he crossed the room disappearing into the corridor where the elevator was.

She stood there for what felt like hours while her mind raced and her heart tried to re-gain it's natural pace. But, she didn't know what had just happened… or why.

Olivia could feel the sting of tears begin to gather in her eyes, and that's when she realized she could move again.

Before she got beside herself with the unreasonable feeling of despair that she began to sense creeping up on her, she gathered herself, caught sight of her discarded clutch, picked it up and quickly left the room to make her way outside where Peter was sure to be waiting.

What the hell just happened?

* * *

**A/N: I'll get two hours of sleep tonight, but I love you guys, so I HAD to post this. Apologies that it's many hours after I intended. LOL! I know what I'm writing next, so hopefully I'll post the aftermath be really soon. *shrugs* Enjoy! **


	8. Chapter 7A

**A/N: Okay... this is NOT what I had planned to post tonight, given the unfairly long wait I have imposed on you. I actually intended there to be MUCH more to this update, but I could not finish the end of this chapter tonight. Since the second part is almost complete, though, I should be able to finish it within the next couple of days and post it on Wednesday (tomorrow). Anyway, thank you, SO VERY MUCH, for sticking with me. I cannot express how much I appreciate you all - all of your reviews and PM's over the last several weeks. Hope you enjoy!**

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**CHAPTER 7-A**

Olivia woke with a start… and a crushing headache. She cursed the brightness of the sun beating through her sheer silk paneled bedroom draperies as she tried, but failed twice, to lift herself up from her bed. With squinted, blurry, burning eyes she propped herself up on her forearms, and looked down at her normally snow white, plush, quilted, down-filled duvet and it occurred to her that the pattern left on it was the smeared imprint of the make-up that had been on her face.

Olivia groaned out to no one in particular, "Stop spinning… please." The room had taken on a living, wavy dimension, and the sensation was beginning to move down to her sour stomach. She mustered every ounce of strength she could and quickly pushed herself all the way up from her bed, and let her bare feet come in contact with the plush carpet underneath. Turning to run to her bathroom, she moved too quickly and tripped over the hem of her gown, the fabric of which was still constricting her arms, and hips, and wrapping itself around her legs. Olivia hit the bedroom floor with a thud, causing the dull but consistent throbbing pain in her head to surge exponentially and shoot through her skull like a lightning strike.

With the contents of her stomach from the previous few hours threatening to make a quick entrance, from the floor Olivia weakly groaned "Father… help," Then, she semi-quickly scampered on her hands and knees onto the cold marble floor of her bathroom, and up to the rim of the toilet, just in time to avoid making a mess.

"Ungh…" Olivia groaned, and breathed steadily as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She paused for a moment, then retched again, but nothing more came. Olivia clawed her way up to her sink, barely getting up onto her bare feet, and steadied her self against it as she turned on the cold water. She finally looked at herself in the mirror, still in pain from the brightness of the bathroom lights, and groaned again. One side of her hair was matted and tangled, and her eyeliner and mascara were smudged seemingly everywhere. Only the faintest hint of rouge remained on her lips, since the rest of it was all over her now totally ruined duvet.

She froze for a second at the banshee staring back at her from the mirror, then shook her head and rolled her eyes. She sighed, beginning to remember, little by little, and hating herself for the happenings from a few hours past that lead to her current state. Olivia leaned on both elbows and placed her hands under the cool water running from the nickel-plated faucet. She reveled in the refreshing feel of the water as she let it pool in the palms of her hands and then as she splashed the water over her face, over and over again. She reached for her gel facial cleanser and squeezed a generous amount in her wet hands, rubbing them together to bring up a lather. Olivia thoroughly washed off the remnants of the make-up that was smeared on her face and after patting her face dry, massaged moisturizer into the sensitive skin. She wet her hands again and ran them through her hair, finger combing out the tangles on one side, and causing all of it to begin to curl up into silky ringlets.

When she was done, she looked at herself again, more satisfied and a bit refreshed. Her head was thundering less as well, but her mouth was dry thanks to the amount of alcohol still in her system now working its way out of her pores. Olivia let more of the cool water from the faucet pool in her hand, and she drank her fill until she felt better.

She then padded in her bare feet gingerly over to her giant soaking bathtub, and sat on the marble tile surround as she reached over, still wearing her stunning gown, and turned on the bathwater. She made sure to add her favorite bath liquid scented with a rich blend of vanilla, almond, cinnamon, clove and musk, and watched for a second as the bubbles grew and the steam began to rise from the pool of hot water.

Olivia stood, faltering slightly at the rush of dizziness that overcame her, and sighed. Today would be a long day of recuperation. Sundays weren't off limits to clients and colleagues, but she would be sticking to her apartment today and working from home if necessary. She knew that she still had _so_ many things to prepare before her trip on Tuesday to London, but she'd have to skip going into the office this time around. Today was a day for pajamas and as few sudden movements as possible.

Olivia unzipped the zipper that began just under her right underarm and went down along the length of her side, all the way to her right hip. She carefully peeled off the gown and hung it on the specially covered hanger perched over the top of her bathroom door. She couldn't believe she passed out in her dress, full face of make-up, and without regard for her once beautiful coif. Marco would _not_ be happy to find out how long his work of art had actually lasted.

Just before climbing into the soft, hot, fragrant bubbles of her bath, Olivia's phone began to ring. She hadn't planned on spending an indecent amount of time in the tub, but she thought that just maybe she could get away with 45 minutes or so without any Sunday morning emergencies. She needed a moment of rest and calm to cap off what turned out to be a miserable, miserable weekend.

Olivia sighed hard, and rolled her eyes before instinctively wrapping her nude body up in the plush, oversized Egyptian cotton towel that had been folded and lying on the tub surround. She rushed back into her bedroom and retrieved the cordless receiver of her phone and walked back into the bathroom, determined, as she went to push the "talk" button. Still a little fuzzyminded, and now annoyed, she forgot to check the caller i.d. before answering.

"Speak," she said, not really trying to mask her frustration, and unable to cover up the hoarseness of her voice induced by alcohol, restless sleep, and an episode of nausea.

"Olivia." The deep voice on the other end tried.

Her breath hitched, and her heart surged. She would've lost her footing had she not been close enough to the bathtub surround to take a seat. She didn't say anything, but cursed herself in her mind for answering the phone with such disregard.

"Olivia? Talk to me."

She took a noticeable deep breath before answering. "Hello."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

Almost as if he didn't hear her, he continued. "Because, when I left you last night, you were… not good."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the flicker of a memory from the night before. She wanted to throw up again, but instead she let slip an uncharacteristically nervous chuckle. "Yeah." She sighed. "I'm getting ready to take a bath. I'll feel a lot better afterwards."

"Good… good. Uhhh… listen…"

"Please, don't." Olivia sighed again. She shook her head as if he could see her.

"Well, now's clearly not the time. I'm not letting this go, though. I want to clear the air."

"Why can't we just chalk it up to a momentary lapse in judgment… on my part… and leave it alone?"

"Because, that's not good enough." He was serious… as a heart attack. Olivia could tell.

"Well… I don't know what to say. I'm embarrassed, _alright_?" Olivia's voice raised about an octave, a mistake in her condition. "And, _that's_ not gonna change. But, pretending like nothing happened and just… just letting it go… that _would_ be helpful… to _me_." She tried not to raise her voice too much, in honor of her headache which was returning with a vengeance. She also didn't want to sound angry or annoyed, although those feelings were surfacing as well. It wasn't exactly fair to him.

Olivia was met with silence on the other end of the phone. But all she cared about right now was licking her wounds – since there wasn't anyone else around to do so – finally getting into her bubble bath – which was certainly tepid by now – and taking a short nap before delving into the speech she had yet to edit and finalize for Ron Prosor's first speaking engagement in London. She couldn't be bothered with treating him with kid gloves right now.

"Okay, so, I'm gonna go."

"I'll talk to you later, Olivia."

"Sure."

At that, he hung up… nothing further to say.

Olivia looked down at the receiver still in her hand, and bit her bottom lip and sighed, shaking her head with regret and self-loathing. Regret for showing her ass in the worst way, and for possibly ruining a friendship that she sort of needed in her life right about now.

Suddenly, she threw the receiver, hard, in the direction of her bedroom, and paid no attention to the sound it made as it smashed against the wall clear on the other side.

She snatched off her towel, letting it fall at her feet, and stepped too quickly into the bathwater which was still near scorching. She yelped and took in a quick rush of breath as she submerged her bottom half under the hot liquid. She squeezed her eyes shut, and sunk the rest of the way in up to her chin, the bubbles tickling the tender skin there. She prayed an earnest prayer of thanks for the immediate salve the water provided for her body and mind, and laid her head back against the bath pillow behind her.

Eyes still closed, Olivia shook her head slowly from side to side, feeling the embarrassment of what happened just a few hours earlier pulse through her. Despite the calming properties of the fragrant, hot, water, that feeling wouldn't be washed away easily.

* * *

Just after her run-in with Fitz on the balcony overlooking the White House ballroom, Olivia gathered her faculties as quickly and thoroughly as she could manage, and double-timed it towards the exit where she found her date waiting. Peter had been texting something or reading e-mails on his blackberry when she quietly walked up behind him. She took the moment, before he noticed her, to adeptly wipe away the moisture that had begun to escape her eyes as soon as Fitz finally disappeared from the ballroom. She checked herself quickly in her gold-plated compact mirror and snapped it shut, putting it back inside her clutch. Peter heard the sound and turned around giving her a bright smile.

"Hey… I was just about to come back in after you." He said lightly, still feeling a high from the events of the night. For him, having a chance to laugh and relax with his new boss, meet dignitaries and celebrities, meet the President of the United States, and be the man on the stunning Olivia Pope's arm all night added up to a matchless evening that he was unlikely to ever forget. And, if he could dare to hope, maybe the night would get even better.

He gave Olivia, who was concentrating on the contents of her clutch, the once-over and felt that familiar heat wash over him again. But as he continued to look closer at her – particularly the expression on her face – and although she wasn't making eye-contact, he couldn't fight the feeling that something was a little awry.

Peter had shoved his hands into his pants pockets when he turned to look at Olivia, expecting to see the happy, smiling face of his date. Instead he was met with her slightly puffy, reddened eyes and her slightly reddened nose.

He stepped closer to her, with his head cocked to the side, concern marring his handsome features, and withdrew one of his hands from his pocket. She continued to fumble with her belongings, a way of being that was such a departure from how Olivia usually was. It almost seemed as if she was avoiding looking up at him. So, he reached for her lovely chin and tipped it up to him, so that she couldn't resist looking into his eyes. He didn't know why, but a feeling of real concern, even fear, struck him in that instant, and he crowded her frame with his warm, firm body, now scooping both sides of her face into his large, strong hands. Not knowing exactly what was the matter, or how to proceed, Peter offered a concerned smile and looked deeply into Olivia's eyes which were damp with what he thought were a few unshed tears.

"Liv?... What's the matter?" He asked in the sweetest most comforting voice.

Olivia responded with the loveliest smile she could find and answered, trying to sound certain, "Oh. Nothing." She chuckled. "Peter… I'm fine."

Olivia placed her hands on his wrists and continued to smile, as painful as it was to pretend. In truth, she was reeling. She was coming undone on the inside.

"I could use a drink, though." She gently tugged his hands away from her face, smiled again, and walked around him towards the rear door of the limo now being held open by the driver. The driver offered her his hand, and she took it, but just before getting inside, she turned back to Peter and smiled at him over her shoulder. "Coming?"

Peter looked at her with a quizzical look and shoved his hands back in his pockets. Mouth initially slightly agape, he clamped his mouth closed, causing the muscles along his chiseled jawline to flex. He felt compelled to follow, although he was beginning to feel conflicted as well. He decided against saying anything further as he watched her climb inside the limo with the driver's help. He thanked the driver and climbed in after her.

Olivia slinked all the way over to the other side of the long seat, and turned her body to Peter, giving him a more sultry grin than the seemingly innocent smile she had given him just a moment before. To him, she looked exquisite in the darkness of the limo, with ribbons of moonlight and lights from the streetlamps outside intermittently washing over her face and form as the car began to make its way along the D.C. streets.

He wanted so much to just put his unease at bay and try to live in the moment, hoping he'd have the chance to show Olivia how he had been feeling about her. But, still, something wasn't right. Her mood had changed. Something had happened between the time he last saw her inside and when she appeared behind him outside at the limo. He wished he could be a different man and just ignore it, and go with the flow. But, he couldn't. He cared too much.

"Olivia… did something happen?"

Peter sat almost cornered up against the car door opposite of Olivia, and had each hand casually resting on each thigh. His legs were bent and slightly opened, and he wasn't able to really stretch them out although they were in a limo. He was just too tall to fit very comfortably.

In response, her smile dripped with sweetness. "Why, no, Peter. Why ever do you ask?" Olivia really wanted to cry. She could still feel the pressure of Fitz' hands and fingers on her body, strumming her most sensitive areas. She could still feel the heat of his breath on her neck and smell the musk of his cologne. All she had to do was slowly blink her eyes, and she could still see the waves of raven hair with its light brown and silver flecks, and the dark pools of his grey, passion-filled eyes boring into her. She had to play it off though. She knew she was thinking and feeling unreasonably. She wasn't trying to drag Peter into her drama. She wanted to forget what Fitz had done to her. The effect he _always_ had on her. She didn't give Peter a chance to respond, after all, her question wasn't really meant to be answered.

"I just want you to take me home… for a nightcap."

Peter chuckled, uneasily, and raised his brows as he looked at her. "A nightcap? Does anyone in our generation still use that term?"

Olivia giggled in earnest, and turned to the wet bar in the middle of the console in front of them. She took out two small bottles of whiskey and clinked them together. "Bingo."

Peter looked at her with disbelief registering on his face as Olivia made quick work of the cap from one of the little bottles and within seconds had downed the harsh liquid in its entirety. She winced noticeably and extended her other hand as she finished the last drop of her bottle, offering the other one to Peter. She kind of flicked her wrist in his direction, indicating that he should take it from her.

As he reluctantly took the bottle from her he said, "When you said you wanted a drink, I thought you meant maybe going to one of the after parties afterall."

Olivia rolled her eyes as she turned to roll down her car window slightly and tossed the tiny bottle out of the opening she had made. She laughed when she turned back to Peter and saw that he was utterly flabbergasted. "No. No more parties… or after parties." Olivia said as she reached into the wet bar again and began rifling through the remaining selections. She turned up her nose and scoffed at what the little bar had left to offer. Then she focused her sights on Peter. "I have way better stuff than this at my house." She smiled, and her tone was low and husky, sending a familiar chill down Peter's spine. He didn't know what to think about what was beginning to happen.

Despite her disappointment, Liv found another little bottle of whiskey and made quick work of that as well, this time not offering her date any of it. Peter, still shocked at the scene unfolding before him, felt like he was about to do something illegal to impress the hot, popular girl in high school. Like, he didn't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of a nightcap at Olivia's under the circumstances – she was now becoming slightly tipsy – but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't help himself at all when it came to Olivia. His better judgment told him that she was going through… _something_… all of a sudden, and that he shouldn't get involved. But, if nothing else, Olivia was his friend, and he wanted to make sure that she was okay and that she knew he was available if she wanted to confide in him.

"Okay. Back to your house it is." Peter reached over to where Liv was sitting next to him and took her small hand into his, engulfing it, beginning to slowly and gently stroke her delicate fingers with his thumb. In response, she quickly snatched her hand away and waved him off.

"Don't sound so excited, Peter. I mean… if I'm keeping you from something more important, please, by all means, go on. Insisting on your company isn't my style. You know that." Olivia said in a perturbed tone. She rolled her eyes and sighed, slumping back into her seat. She stared out the window, and her words were starting to come out more carefully now, in quick, accurate spurts, but with the occasional slightly slurred intonation, as if she was fighting against sounding compromised. But, Peter wasn't fooled. She _wanted_ to get drunk. More drunk, rather.

Olivia could feel the heat of embarrassment begin to spread across her forehead and chest. What the hell was she doing? Basically challenging a man to come back to her place to get inebriated and then… what? And, why did she feel the need to challenge _Peter_ of all people? She already knew he'd do anything for her. Anything she wanted. She knew he was having thoughts and feelings for her that went beyond friendship. _He_ wasn't really the problem. She knew that too… _She_ was.

Olivia continued to look out of the window, realizing that they were drawing closer to her place. She shook her head at her own foolishness. She was overheated, still had Fitz on the brain, and feeling tipsy. All in all, she was a mess. And she had a seemingly reluctant guest who was probably scared shitless at her suggestive conduct. She knew she shouldn't take this any further, but she just wasn't inclined to give in to reason right now. She wanted something more to happen tonight, and if she knew anything, her present company wanted the same thing.

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**A/N: Like I said, this was WAAAY shorter than intended, but I think I can comfortably promise that the next part will be worthwhile (for the most part); No [direct] Olitz interaction, but fun stuff. LMAO! As always, comments, constructive criticisms, gripes, complaints, requests, predictions are all welcome. XOXO. **

**P.S.: too tired to fully edit for any typos/errors tonight. I'll come back later and do that. **


	9. Chapter 7-B

_**A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this add. I know I enjoyed writing it (that's a first). LMFAO! O.o =========**_

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Chapter 7-B

Peter was every bit a man's man, but he hadn't been around Olivia on a constant basis for a long time. She'd changed. She knew it. And he'd noticed. She was never one to keep the company of a lot of different men, but the part Peter didn't know was that something about being with Fitz for so long up until a couple of years ago awakened something primal in Liv.

She had gone through her young adult years focused on little else besides being a fastidious student and preparing to embark upon the stellar political and legal career she always knew she wanted. She never had the time – or desire – to be enraptured by love and lust. Even her almost episode with Peter when they were about to graduate from undergrad was bridled by her innocence and inexperience and his natural goodness… His unwillingness to take advantage of her. That part hadn't changed. But, what _had_ changed was that Olivia knew the effect she had on men. Fitz had made that very clear during the life of their romantic, sexual, loving, passion-filled relationship.

There were times, especially when she and Fitz were on the campaign trail, when she'd just sense him staring at her from across a room crowded with campaign volunteers and press corps members. She could feel him most times before she could even see him. She knew he was there. She had developed a sixth sense for it. And, he couldn't help himself. No matter who was around, even by the time he'd gotten the White House, dignitaries, political rivals attending meetings off of the Hill, Mellie, Cyrus… Fitz had to be near her. Under different circumstances – with a different woman – he might have cared to be inconspicuous, but he had no control over himself when it came to Olivia. And, truthfully, neither did she. Even if they didn't have the chance to talk one on one about a speech he was preparing to give, or accidentally graze each other's fingertips when exchanging a briefing file, or really be alone with one another, if they were within twenty feet of each other, they could feel the magnetism, the heat. Something changed in the way they both breathed when they were near one another. Something changed about the way Fitz' skin felt. It was always hotter, prickly. She felt the same thing. Something changed about her body chemistry, and his as well. There were countless times when she would be experiencing the physiological symptoms of being in the same room as him, and different, random people would comment on the potent scent of her perfume… something she never even wore in excess. But the heat that radiated off of her body would mix with the sultry scent and other people couldn't help but take notice. Fitz took notice too and would always withhold comment until they could be alone.

Then, when they found themselves alone – on the trail, keeping ungodly late nights preparing for the next day's grueling schedule and finally being abandoned by Cyrus given in to his losing battle with fatigue, or during the first year at the White House when she'd work into the wee hours of the morning, intending to stay the night on the couch in her office but instead being summoned to the Oval hours after the rest of the workers had long abandoned their posts, or nervously but happily greeting him in her work space – he couldn't keep his hands off every part of her body. He couldn't maintain his distance if his life depended on it, and was always compelled to crowd her body with his within seconds of seeing her, sleepy-eyed, wound up, and wanting him. Always wanting him. They were animal in their magnetism to each other and in their movements. They spoke in whispers and murmurs, remarkably unhurried for such illicit meetings. They glided and ground their bodies up against each other – clothed, unclothed – for what seemed like hours before actually making love. Consummating their desire for each other every time. They never said "no" to each other. It was always "yes". It _had_ to be.

Finally, Fitz put into actual words how she made him feel. What she did to him. He told her that when he saw her at the beginning of each day, his peripheral vision went dark and hazy, and he could literally only see her face, her hair, her lips teasing and being teased by her tongue and her teeth, the rise and fall of her breasts underneath her clothes as she breathed, her coffee cup and the slight sheen of light pink lip gloss left behind on its lid, her fingers when they forcefully grasped onto a newspaper roll or when they ghosted over and nimbly flipped through pages and pages of national security legislation, the roll of her hips and round ass and the flex of her thighs underneath her tailored suit pants, even the bare upper flesh of her feet peeking out from underneath her slacks and curving down into the various shades and fabrics of her collection of stilettos. Always stilettos. His pants would tighten around his growing manhood without warning and all he could do was find a seat somewhere, still staring at her, take a deep breath, and try to calm himself down. During the campaign, before he knew he had the same effect on her, he felt like a dirty old man watching her. Wanting to take her right then and there every second of every day she was in his presence. But she finally admitted to him too that every time she would see him or sense him, she would immediately feel hot all over, like a beam of intensely hot light had shone on her at his prompting, and her breathing would just… change. Her heart rate would speed up, unbeknownst to anyone else. The distinct feeling of her own arousal would cause her to lean against a desk or grab hold to the back of a chair to steady herself. She was a perfect professional, on the outside. But Fitz touched her to her core every damn time, just by his presence, a look, the baritone of his voice. It was all consuming.

Then, their lovemaking. Fitz was insatiable. They both were. He needed to go for forever it seemed. Never less than half an hour without stopping. He would become almost someone else, transported to somewhere else. These were the feelings he finally told Liv about. She could feel it too, but he didn't leave her to guess.

His body would almost hum on it's own accord, all over, like dowsing rods reflecting some otherworldly energy. He would tremor from somewhere deep inside his core when he was pressing naked flesh up against her bare body. When he was deep inside of her to the hilt, feeling like he was at home. There were times when it felt like he was trying to take possession of her body with his. Climb fully inside of her never to leave. She could feel it. She _loved_ it. _Needed_ it. He couldn't breathe steady. His eyes would darken to the point where his dilated pupils would almost completely overtake the heady gray-blue of his irises. His face and ears and sides of his neck would turn various shades of red, and become scalding to the touch. He would become an inferno from the inside out, spreading his heat onto and into her body. She lived for those hours. He lit her body up, every nerve ending ablaze, when he touched her. When he fucked her. When he made love to her.

Naturally, after college there had been men. Two meaningful relationships. They'd loved her in their own ways. There had been some unfruitful encounters as well that had never even resulted in actual physical intimacy. With those, Olivia realized that she had an effect on men, but it was never quite so acute as it was when she was with Fitz. And, she'd never had that experience since. She didn't want it.

Until tonight. His touch had re-awakened those feelings she had suppressed for nearly two years. But, he left her hanging. She was so frustrated. So angry. So hurt. And now, so tipsy. Her intention, foolishly, was only to add to the numbness she had begun to feel thanks to the alcohol. Olivia warred with herself internally. She didn't want to hurt Peter. Some people, without having any clue about her sexual history, especially with Fitz, had labeled her a man-eater because of how she had effectively bowled over every powerful man in Washington D.C. who had the nerve to come up against her professionally. She didn't want to make Peter her latest victim, this time on a personal level. He deserved better. But, unfortunately for him, he was spun in her web. She hadn't anticipated the encounter with Fitz. But now that it had happened, she needed release. And Peter, wonderful, beautiful Peter whom she knew she could trust, was just… there.

* * *

The rest of the ride back to Olivia's apartment was filled only with an awkward silence. Peter stared at Olivia throughout, much to her chagrin. She could feel him looking at her, wondering what was going through her mind. She'd never share. That wasn't what _this_ was about. She glanced over at him when they stopped in front of her building and gave him a small, dishonest smile and then looked away. But, Peter's heart melted. He couldn't just leave her hanging. He wouldn't leave her hanging the way Fitz had, although he of course had no idea that had happened. He knew it was _something_ and he had an inkling it had to do with the President, although he couldn't prove it. He noticed the slightest shift in the atmosphere when Olivia and the President had greeted each other earlier in the evening. Whatever had happened, Olivia seemed to be in distress now, and Peter wouldn't leave her side unless she told him to leave.

Peter stepped out of the limo and helped Liv out as well. He tipped the limo driver who went on his way, and turned to see Liv waiting for him on the front steps of her building. He sighed deeply, and smiled that devastating smile of his, shoving his hands into his pants pockets again as he walked over to her.

Olivia smiled back at him, although the smile didn't fully reach her eyes, and she slid her hand through the space his arm created, linking hers with his. Peter glanced down behind Olivia, not noticing or ignoring altogether the shallowness of her smile, because he was again distracted by the way her naked back swayed and turned, and the way her hips and ass undulated, outlined by the ink-black lace of her dress. He covered her hand with his own, and felt her fingers grasp the sleeve of his jacket, like she was holding on for dear life. She wasn't looking at him, just walking along, looking straight ahead.

Peter looked down at Olivia and over her gorgeous face, hair, hands, everything. He felt both lucky and strangely disturbed all at the same time. He was trying to tune in to whatever was clearly affecting her, but he was still a man. He felt a bit guilty about it, but he was turned on. Maybe it had something to do with the damsel-in-distress vibe she was giving off. But, it definitely had to do with the vibe she was giving off that she wanted more from him tonight than just a nightcap. More than just a drink with a friend. He thought he should try, if the opportunity arose, but didn't think he'd be able to resist Olivia. What hot-blooded man in his right mind and lucky enough to be in his position could?

During the elevator ride up to Olivia's floor, still bathed in silence, she quietly slid her hand down Peter's forearm, down to his wrist, and then sensually over his palm, finally linking her delicate fingers with his strong digits, giving a slight tug as the elevator door opened. She looked up at Peter with some unidentifiable twinkle in her eye. All he could do was smile – this time with more nervousness than he'd felt earlier in the evening – and shake his head. Olivia chuckled.

As they made their way into the apartment, Olivia reached down quickly, unbuckling the straps on each ankle, and kicked her stilettos off, comically dropping down in height several inches. Before, she was somewhat petite sanding next to Peter. Now, she was absolutely diminutive.

She made her way over to the console cabinet next to her chiffon-covered ceiling-height windows framed at the bottom with pillowed window seats, and retrieved a decanter full of 30 year old scotch and two tumblers. As Peter sat comfortably at the corner of her plush, cream colored, supple linen sofa, Olivia approached and placed both tumblers on the coffee table in front of him, pouring a generous amount of the amber liquid in each one. She sat down on the other end of the sofa, after picking up her tumbler, and looked back and forth from Peter to his portion, which he was slow to take in hand.

A full twenty minutes, at least, had passed since they'd said actual words to each other. Olivia was intrigued to see how far this game she'd created would actually go. Her intrigue was heightened by her already slightly inebriated state. She cocked her head to the side, staring at Peter and swiveled the tumbler in front of her nose, lightly taking in the harsh fumes created by the scotch.

Peter smiled again at her and shook his head a little. He reached over and picked up his tumbler as Olivia held hers out in his direction. He read her intent and gently clinked the edge of his glass against hers.

"Cheers." He said, quietly, and took a strong gulp of the scotch, watching her.

Olivia smiled, pleased at his acquiescence and replied in like manner, nodding "Cheers," then taking a drawn out sip from her glass. She closed her eyes slowly and leant her head back slightly as she swallowed. Peter halted his movements and stared at the curve of her throat as she did so. His mouth watered as it hung slightly open and he was forced to lick his lips. Peter took another long gulp, almost surprising himself by finishing off his portion. He could both feel the burn in his throat, as well as the slight buzz. It was quicker than he wanted.

Olivia had swung her legs up onto the sofa and moved her tiny feet in Peter's direction as she finished off her beverage, eyes still closed. She did so without any awareness, but the effect it had on Peter was substantial.

He placed the empty tumbler back on the table and turned his attention fully to Olivia. As she rubbed her ankles together, satisfied with her drink, and showcasing her beautiful toes, Peter was almost possessed and reached over, taking a firm hold to her small, perfect arches.

Olivia gasped slightly as her eyes slowly drifted open. She smiled, devilishly, and placed her glass on the table as well. She slung one arm over the back of the couch and propped the side of her head up with the other hand as she watched Peter work.

"What are you doing, Peter?" Olivia slurred. They both knew it was a strictly rhetorical question.

Peter answered only with a smile, and turned his full concentration to kneading circles into the bottom of her feet, alternating between them. Amongst other maneuvers, Peter was rolling her arches over his knuckles and applying and releasing pressure as he went along. She could feel her body starting to respond. _This_ was what she wanted. To feel _this_.

Peter's body began to respond as well. Olivia's quiet, inadvertent moans and gasps, and her feline-like movements as he worked literally gave Peter rise causing his dick to harden. He watched her with his head cocked to the side. Her eyes were closed, and he could feel the heat growing in his loins, and moving up his stomach to his chest and over the rest of him.

Olivia sunk further down into her side of the sofa and moved her legs further towards Peter, causing her dress to rise up some. Now, her bare, smooth calves were slung over his thighs as he continued to caress her toes, feet and ankles.

"Ah, Peter" Olivia whispered. "That feels _so_ good." She looked at him with hooded eyes and licked her lips, pausing to catch her bottom lip between her teeth. Her desire was growing. Her judgment was clouded and her vision was slightly clouded too but she knew enough to know she wasn't ready for him to stop what he was doing.

As soon as he released one of her feet, she rubbed his thigh with it, moving towards the inside of his thigh and up towards his growing erection. Peter was slightly caught off guard when Olivia slowly and gently pressed the ball of her foot into his hardness and began to knead him there. He sucked in a sharp breath and looked over at her seeing the desire and mischief in her eyes. He grabbed her ankles and pulled them open as he climbed onto his knees and laid down in between her legs.

Peter positioned himself on top of Olivia as he began slowly pulling up her dress inch by inch at the same time that he allowed his fingertips to brush her lower legs, then her knees, then her thighs.

Before he went any further, Peter pressed his hips into Olivia's and instinctively ground himself into her. Olivia gasped and grabbed his ears, bringing his lips to hers and kissing him soundly on the mouth. Her eyes drifted shut and instantaneously a vision of Fitz flashed through her mind, across the insides of her eyelids. She kissed Peter harder, and sucked on his lips, causing him to respond by opening his mouth and search for her tongue with his. He massaged her tongue with his own, and in return Olivia sucked on his, alternating between that and both of his lips.

Peter's hands stopped at Olivia's thighs as he got lost in the kiss. She ground up against him and began to remove his tuxedo jacket making him remember all that was happening.

"Fi-… I want you…" Olivia ran her hands across Peter's back, and then up into his shortly cropped hair, adjusting mentally to the difference. She peppered heated kisses across his neck and moved her hands down to undo his tie and the buttons of his shirt.

But, as she began to get carried away, Peter clutched her wrists. For a second, it didn't register with Olivia, but then she opened her eyes and stared up at Peter who was looking down at her intently. He was paused in mid-motion and seemingly deep in thought.

"Wait…" Still on top of her, Peter slowly reached up and cupped the side of Olivia's face with the warm palm of his hand. He closed his eyes and sweetly kissed her on the tip of her nose, then bent his neck and rubbed his nose against hers.

Olivia grasped the closely cut hair at his nape, trying to re-connect with his gaze, although her instincts were hindered by the alcohol. "Peter… look at me" she muttered. Her tongue felt thick.

Peter ran the palm of his hand down Olivia's cheek and the side of her neck, as if he were trying to memorize her skin with his hand. He kept moving it down the side of her breast, still over her intact dress, and down her flank, finally tucking it underneath her so that his palm rested right on the curve of her bare lower back. It didn't bother him that his hand was essentially pinned underneath her slight weight. With his other elbow pressed into the cushion up alongside Olivia's head, he perched the side of his face in his palm. Peter looked down at Olivia and shook his head with disbelief about their predicament. His breathing, which had quickened before when they were in the throes of whatever this was, had steadied.

"What?" Olivia said sweetly, smiling up into his face. She was a little confused as to why he stopped. She could feel his arousal, still. Still watching him, she kissed him ever so gently on his lips as if to encourage him.

Peter sighed. He wanted to kick himself for being so damn noble. It _always_ got in the way of what he wanted. _Who_ he wanted. "You don't want this…" he said, almost too low for her to hear. He shook his head, still making direct eye contact. He was nothing if not direct.

But, she was sure she mis-heard him.

"What?" Olivia was incredulous at first. "What?!" Now she was pissed, quick as lightning.

Peter looked down at her. "Tell me you want this, and I'll stay."

Olivia paused, silent, just looking at Peter for what seemed like an eternity. She wondered if he could see past the heaviness of her eyelids and make out the rage that was growing in her eyes.

"The fuck are you talking about?" she said, with deceptive calmness. Deceptive if Peter didn't know her, but he knew she was mad as a viper snake right now.

Olivia gritted her teeth, stretching her lips thinly over them, and moved to squirm out from underneath him. He didn't fight her. She moved Peter off of her and stood up quickly, too quickly for her own good as her head spun, and made her way around the coffee table towards the other side of the room.

Peter righted himself and sat up at the edge of the sofa. "Olivia, something happened tonight. I don't know what it is, but I'm here if you want to talk instead of..."

Olivia scoffed and just started to pace back and forth in front of him. She shot him a look that silenced him from saying more. "_Talk_?!" She shuffled slightly, feeling the effects of the anger and the amount of alcohol she'd imbibed. She could hear her own words slur slightly, but didn't have any control to stop it. "I damn sure am _not_ in the mood to talk!" she said, hardly in his general direction. It was almost as if she were talking to herself.

"Well," Peter dared, "I think that's what you need right now. A friend… to _talk_ to." He looked at her with earnest care and concern as she began to unravel. He knew he'd made a mistake by starting down this road with Olivia and he regretted getting carried away with her fore a few reasons. He was still in a state of physical arousal, and feeling more and more guilty by the second because of that. Peter sighed deep, feeling the sense of defeat grow.

She stopped dead at his words and turned to him, lazily placing a hand on one of her hips, and jutting it out. She stared Peter down as she swayed a little bit just from standing there in her bare feet and now too-long dress. She flipped her hand through the air at Peter. "The fuck you know about what I need, huh?" Olivia had become belligerent in her drunkenness. And, now she felt she was only getting started. "How about, you let _me_ tell _you_ what the hell I need, okay? How about, I need you to just stop talking so that we can _do_ this!" Olivia waved her hands up and down in front of herself as if telling Peter to take her in fully. "That's what the fuck I need." Olivia bent at the waist towards him a little, and her eyes were slightly glazed over and unfocused as she tried to stare him down.

Peter wasn't angry with Olivia for reacting this way, but he didn't want to compound it. He knew now that in her state, trying to reason with her and just talk to her was impossible. He sighed again, defeated, not wanting to really leave, but not wanting to anger her further. He really didn't know _what_ to do.

Peter stood up and walked over to Olivia as she followed him with her eyes. She looked so puzzled. She really couldn't believe what was happening right now. She was drunk and fucking horny and shit wasn't going the way she needed it to go.

He went to envelop her in his arms, intending to hold her, and kiss her on the top of her head. But, as soon as he got close enough to touch her, Olivia slapped him cold in the face.

"Get the fuck out!" she spat.

"Liv…" Peter tried, his voice even despite the literal blow she'd just dealt him.

"Nah!..." Olivia closed her eyes and waved him away. "I don't wanna _talk_ about it." Olivia said dismissively. "That shit is _wack_, okay? So… bye!" Olivia nearly stumbled backwards trying to move away from him as he advanced closer to her again, stepping into dangerous territory. He tried to catch her, fearful that she'd fall.

She slapped his hand away, instead. "Don't _touch_ me! I want you to leave, Peter." Olivia had a determination that outweighed her drunkenness.

Peter stopped, looking down at her and shaking his head. He shoved his hands into his pockets, like he always did when he didn't know what to do. "Olivia… I'm sorry." He said, looking at her somewhat dejected.

She just clumsily walked over to her door and after struggling a little with the locks, opened it and held it open, leaning on it for support. "Good night, Peter."

As Peter walked past her, he turned slightly just before stepping out over the threshold. In response, all Olivia did was wave him all the way out with an extremely annoyed expression on her face, as if to say she didn't want to hear anymore.

Just as Peter stepped clear of the door, he turned around to face Olivia and started to speak, but she shut the door in his face.

He stood there for a second in stunned silence and heard her double-bolt the door's locks. At least she had the wherewithal to practice safety. He called through the door, "I'll call and check on you in the morning…" He stood there for a little while longer, hoping but not hearing anything in response.

After another moment, feeling immense regret and anger with himself for nearly taking advantage of his friend, Peter walked off.

On the other side of the door, Olivia slid down it coming to rest seated on her living room floor. She picked up one of her earlier discarded stilettos and threw it across the room, knocking a small crystal vase off of it's perch on the side table causing it to crash, shattered, onto the floor.

Olivia looked at the broken vase, reminding her of the broken pieces of her life, and suddenly began sobbing. She was drunk, alone, and _so_ horny. She was fucking miserable.

* * *

That was the last thing Olivia remembered when she awoke the next morning. She must've made her way to her bedroom soon thereafter and passed out.

As she now sat being lulled by the warmth and Jacuzzi jets of the tub, she couldn't fight off the thoughts of him. It wasn't as if she didn't already think of him nearly every waking moment and incessantly in her dreams, but she hadn't seen him in person or touched him – or been touched by him – in what felt like decades… until last night. That only made the thoughts more vivid and torturous.

Olivia shut her eyes and pressed the back of her head into the bath pillow as she wrapped her arms around herself in a hug.

_His face, so close to hers, almost too close to make out all of the details, shadowed by the darkness of their immediate surroundings mixed with the dim lights off in the distance of the massive room. _

Her hands loosened a bit and she slid them across her stomach, then up towards her breasts.

_His eyes, and how they both sparkle and darken into a remarkable shade of silvery gray as they bare into hers._

She splayed her hands and slid her palms over her mounds, allowing her hardening nipples to slide in between her first and second fingers.

_His hot breath on her cheek, smelling of cherries from the Hall's cough drops he's obsessed with and the spicy bourbon he had been sipping gingerly all night. _

Olivia, eyes still closed, turned her head to one side, remembering. She ran an index finger over one of her nipples slowly, back and forth until it became impossibly hard. Then she pinched it once, between her thumb and forefinger then pinched it harder a second time, just as he'd done.

_The rumble of his husky, slightly hoarse baritone-filled voice over the place on her body near the bottom of her earlobe, and alongside her neck, causing the tiny light-colored hairs there to vibrate. _

Still toying with her own nipple, thinking about him, Liv slid her other hand down from where she had been kneading her breast, lightly running the tips of her fingers over her taut, pulsing stomach. Her own touch sent ripples through her abdomen and over her skin and through the warm water of her bath.

_The musky, woodsy aroma of his cologne, sweet like leather and pine and coffee filling her nostrils, and his soft-as-petal lips skimming over the ridge of her chin as he taunts and teases her with his words and with his hardness pressed into the sensitive apex of her thighs covered only by the delicate fabric of her gown. _

As she continued to tease and knead one of her tits with the palm of her hand, alternating with the delicate pads of her fingers, she slid the fingers of her other hand down, further, finally reaching the completely submerged neatly trimmed curls just above her mons. She lingered there, imagining, recalling the personal attention he was always so glad to pay to her grooming. He never wanted her to have it professionally done. The President of the United States always insisted on keeping her closely trimmed himself, one of their naughty little secrets no one else could've ever guessed. She smiled a little at the absolutely delicious absurdity of the thought, and sighed inaudibly, almost internally.

_His fingers, as they begin at the back of her ankle and slowly trail their way to the front of her lower leg and up her calf, slower still, as if they couldn't get caught by anyone who happens by to straighten up the tables or find out what on earth is keeping either of them so long. _

Liv slid her own fingers down further still, through her outer folds, quickly ghosting over her clitoris, stroking her middle finger all the way through her inner folds until she reached her opening.

_His fingers finding their way up over her knee and flitting over her thigh until they reach her sex where he briefly pauses, fingers tensing with awe at the realization that underneath her dress, she is completely exposed. _

Liv slipped one finger inside, then two, and slowly pumped them in and out, causing the water covering her to undulate along with the motion. She moaned out loud, and pressed her head even further into the small pillow behind her, her mouth open. Then, she began to alternate between sliding her fingers out, and pressing and massaging her clitoris with the tips, and sliding them back in with a practiced rhythm. Over the past couple of years she had gotten too used to this to supplement the loss.

_As soon as the shock wears off, a heady mix of lust and anger overtakes him as he plays with her folds and teases her clit with his fingers. Finally, he slides his thick, long, firm fingers all the way inside of her, until they are fully buried and his hand is cupping her sex._

As she worked herself over, Olivia sucked in a sharp intake of breath, feeling the tension deep inside of her body grow. "Fuck… Fitz…" she moaned. She whimpered and an unexpected tear escaped from her closed eye and trickled down her cheek mixing with the perspiration drummed up by her activities and the steam still coming off of the water.

_He keeps whispering, mumbling, growling in her ear his delight and torture at her slickness, her heat, how fucking tight she is for him… only him. _

Finally, Olivia sent herself over the edge, feeling her walls constrict and release around her fingers in quick succession. As she pumped a few final times, she brought her other hand down to meet her nub of sensitive nerve endings, and manipulated it causing a feeling like lightning to flash through her beginning behind her eyelids and shooting throughout the rest of her body. She flicked her foot, causing some of the water to splash out onto the tub surround. Her back tensed as she stretched fully, then relaxed, still submerged under the warm liquid up to her chin. She let out a deep, satisfied sigh, but her eyes remained closed. And then, suddenly she was weeping, quietly, softly. It wasn't a tumultuous moment. It was a release. As if a dam had been broken. She missed him beyond reason.

_He looks at her with guilt. _Olivia's eyes flitter open. _He's unsure. Wrong for touching her like this. _Her eyes close again. _He can't bear to look at her again, for his shame, for treating her like this. _Olivia opens her tear-filled eyes, staring ahead, fixing her gaze on the light reflecting off of the small, oval-shaped vanity mirror on the counter. _He walks away. She watches as he disappears from sight. _

Spent, she stood up carefully, letting the slick, sudsy water slide off of her body, and stepped out onto the plush mat down on the floor. Olivia slowly reached for her plush bath towel and wrapped herself up in it like a cocoon. She sat for a second, still, and eventually went about the business of drying herself off. When she was done, she padded over to her sink with the various body crèmes and oils sitting atop it, and picked out her most soothing oil mixture. She poured a generous amount in the palm of her hand and watched it pool there. Fitz loved this stuff. It smelled of lavender and vanilla. Then, she slowly massaged it into her skin, from her delicate neck, over her breasts, down over her stomach and everywhere, until she had finally given special attention to each toe and the bottom of her feet. She was nothing if not obsessed with having soft, pretty feet. He was obsessed with that too. She just shook her head and chuckled, hopeless, at the memory. Another memory.

When she was done, Olivia discarded her towel and reached for her plush, floor length, cashmere robe that had hung on the hook at the top of her bathroom door. She slipped into it and tied the tie snugly around her waist.

She walked into her bedroom, still contemplating, and found her blackberry that had, along with her clutch, somehow come to rest on the floor near her bed. Almost without thinking, she sent the group an e-mail: _"No calls. Taking a day. I trust you guys to handle it."_ She saw the tiny red light blinking at the top of the instrument, signaling that she had a missed call, but she didn't even check to see who it was. Probably Peter immediately after she'd put him out. Olivia shook her head and sighed, turning off the phone and shoving it back into her clutch, and then tossing it over to the side of the room.

Olivia came to her highly set, mahogany platform bed with its rich, chocolate brown tufted linen headboard. She pulled off the ruined duvet and let it fall to the floor. She'd get rid of that later. Then, she climbed onto the bed with its soft, beige Egyptian cotton sheets and laid down, covered almost completely by her cashmere robe. It was as good as any lux blanket, but better because it fit closer. She wouldn't be getting much work done today. Her last thoughts were of drifting awake, maybe later, in the wee hours to work on Prosor's speech, then… naturally… she thought of Fitz, and within moments she was asleep.

* * *

He'd tried, of course, to call her a little after 3:30 a.m., but there was no answer. Three rings and then straight to voicemail. He hung up. She was probably screening his calls anyway. She had to know he'd try, but she didn't want anything to do with him. Still. Especially not after what he'd done tonight.

He wasn't in his own skin… not really. He was a machine operating on the inside, but still looking like himself on the outside. He knew he was looking for her, hoping to catch her alone, and he knew that his well-appointed feet were carrying him around the periphery of the room, then up the stairs and onto the semi-darkened balcony, but he couldn't stop them.

Then when he saw her, he felt hot and cold all over, at the same time. His head swam, taking in the sight of her body underneath that half of a dress, and her hair, and everything… It was almost an out of body experience. Almost. He felt like he rushed her. Maybe he frightened her a little. He couldn't stop his actions if he'd tried. It wasn't in him to actually hurt her or even scare her, but he had to touch her. Had to. He needed to smell her perfume up close, the way it was enhanced by the natural emollients of her supple skin. He could only get that aroma if he were closer to her. He was _still_ obsessed, even after everything, after every wrong she'd committed against him. He still needed to touch her. It was maddening. And he was already angry with her for daring to bring a date to _his_ event.

When he descended upon her, it was hopeless. She was mad and full of trepidation, but that just spurned him on. She relented when he finally touched her and even more as it developed into the most intimate of moments. His heart leapt a little with joy that she still desired him.

But then, he had snapped out of it. Almost as if a trance had been broken. He looked at her, really _seeing_ her, and felt a pang of horror and guilt. He had just taken advantage of the love of his life. Anyone could've discovered them, and she'd be furious, but also hurt. He couldn't even bring himself to apologize in that moment. He was just as stunned with his conduct as she seemed to be. He tried his best to gather himself and then felt compelled to escape. That's what it was. An escape. He had committed a sin against her and now he was running away like a coward.

He wanted to try to explain, somehow. Apologize, of course, but maybe really talk to her… finally. A fantasy. That's all that was. They hadn't talked in over a year and he blew tonight's opportunity and _now_ he was trying to play catch-up, as usual.

If he wasn't tipsy or drunk when he'd tried to reach her on the telephone, he certainly was now. Nursing his fourth or fifth scotch in the last hour, Fitz remembered back to when he still had, and then lost, hope in the course of a day.

Fitz had gone looking for Cyrus that day, only to be informed by one of his secret service agents that Cy had left the grounds to meet Olivia for lunch. He predicted that Cyrus would go running to Olivia to plead with her to fix it. To somehow convince him to stop the divorce proceedings or any talk of divorce at all. His reasonable mind knew she wouldn't come, but he felt the unmistakable pang of hope shoot through his heart at the notion. Of course she didn't and he didn't give himself time to be heartbroken over it. He decided instead that it was more of the same – Olivia abandoning him, giving him back over to his handlers, turning in her hard pass, and disappearing. He used the anger he felt over that to push away any feelings he had of utter despair at the realization that she wouldn't be back because she didn't want him anymore. This move – divorcing Mellie – _could_ ruin his presidency and seal his miserable fate with the loss of another run for the White House, but it seemed clear to Fitz that Olivia didn't care about that anymore. She wasn't his fixer, she wasn't his friend, and she wasn't his lover. And, some days, when he really thought about it, he wanted to die. So he drank, quietly, by himself, in order to get some sleep. And he woke up every morning hurting, physically, and numb emotionally, but prepared to push through the day. And did it all over again the next day and the next.

That sad routine was only amplified when he saw Olivia at the dinner. He hadn't expected it, to see her at all. He had been sucker-punched. And, although most of the guests could never tell, he began unraveling immediately. He didn't even realize it right when he'd encountered her and cornered her alone on the empty balcony, but from the moment he saw her walk into the room earlier in the evening, he had begun plotting a move.

And move, he did. And now he hated himself as he sat alone in his study, still, always, thinking of her.

Fitz sat in his favorite supple, deep-sunken massive leather chair, tuxedo jacket and tie long since discarded on the table next to the door. He swirled around the tumbler in his left hand, listening to the calming sound of the melting ice clinking along the sides of the glass. He took another long sip, perhaps his last for right now. He couldn't be accused of not knowing when to stop.

As the haze of drunkenness and loneliness and self-loathing set in, Fitz set the tumbler down and put his hand in his pocket. That's when he felt the forgotten silk pocket square he had placed there earlier, after his dalliance with Olivia. His heart began to race a little, and his breath caught in his throat as he pulled the delicate fabric out and clutched it in his fingers.

He began to softly run his thumb over the material as he remembered using it to wipe her essence from his fingers. He almost laughed, bemused at the ridiculousness of it all. But, any humorous notion he had faded quickly as his arousal grew again. Fitz lifted the cloth to his nose and inhaled deeply rolling his eyes shut and sealing his fate. His mouth watered and his dick hardened immediately.

"Fuck". For the life of him he couldn't understand why he couldn't escape this… her. As he continued to breathe into the fabric, smelling of her musk _just_ as he remembered her, his other hand inadvertently slid down over his taut, muscular stomach and rested over his pants on his rock-hard bulge.

Her lips, her eyes, her breasts, her ass, her thighs, her feet, her hands, her hair… All images shooting through his mind at breakneck pace as he began to firmly knead himself. He wished it were her hands.

Fitz quickly made work of his belt buckle, and the button and clasp at the top of his pants. When he was free of their confinement, he slid his hand into the front of his pants and cupped his hot, hardened flesh with a cool hand. "Ahhh…" He let out an audible moan and laid his head back on the cool leather, as he sunk down further into the chair.

With his left hand, he still clutched the soiled pocket square and had the side of his face in his hand so that the cloth remained in contact with the side of his mouth just under his nostrils. He'd hold on to her scent as long as he could. He would never wash this piece of material.

Fitz rubbed his calloused thumb across the tip of his penis wiping away the pre-cum that had escaped. Thinking again about her mouth and her hands and her fragrant, sweet pussy, he started, slowly at first, pumping his fist up and down along his shaft. Perspiration sprouted out on his crinkled forehead. He only had thoughts of her. No one else. This was her touching him. He picked up the pace, pumping and squeezing himself firmly. He could see her smiling down at him, mounted on top of him, impaling herself on him just the way he wanted. He was close as he sped up his attentions even more. He could see her mouth taking all of him in slowly, impossibly hot and wet. He could feel her tongue flick over his head and lay flat on his shaft. The tension began to build and overtake him. He was at the precipice.

His private desk phone rang loudly. Once, twice… now on ring number five. Fitz halted his actions and gritted his teeth. "Fuck!" He shot his eyes over to the clock on his nearby desk. 3:58 a.m. Who the _fuck_ was calling him at _this_ hour?!

Fitz yanked his hand out of his pants and nearly leapt from his chair in anger. Usually, disruptive phone calls on this line at this time of night – or morning, rather – only meant something critical was happening that absolutely required his attention. In one step he reached the phone, now on it's seventh ring, and yanked it off of the receiver.

"What?! _Why_ am I being disturbed at this hour?" He expected it to be Cyrus or one of his Secret Service agents, but instead he was greeted with a woman's unsure voice.

"Uh… Fitz?"

Fitz gasped, and then sighed slamming his eyes shut. He mouthed the word "fuck" to himself and then sat down on the desk.

"Cecily."

"Darling… I'm so sorry. I-…"

"No. No… don't be. I'm sorry…" he sighed. "I thought it was bad news. I thought you were Cyrus." Then, he thought about it. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes…" she drawled in her thick, but proper English accent. "Still, I feel like I should apologize. I clearly disturbed you. It _is_ late." She sighed this time. "Know what?... I'll talk to you another time."

"Wait. Don't apologize. I just thought you'd be sleep by now." Fitz was on edge, and still a little hard. His voice shook as he tried to be regular on the phone with Cecily, but he could hear the distress in his own voice. He couldn't let on though. He didn't feel like trying to explain his sudden mood. Sober, would be the best way to describe it. Completely sober.

"I couldn't sleep." She answered. "I thought perhaps you could use some company." Cecily was nothing if not direct. A quality Fitz couldn't say he disliked in her.

He just sighed in resignation, and absolute frustration. "Perhaps."

* * *

_**A/N: Okay, so you've been more properly introduced to a new character. LOL! There will be more interaction with Cecily to come. All I can say about the next chapter is... I'm working on it (you know what that means), but an add by next weekend will be an utter miracle. Pray, people. LOL! **_

_**Comments, complaints, heckling, cheers, feedback, criticism... all are welcome. XOXO. **_


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